


Skyseeker

by LingeringEcho



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Dreams, F/M, Fairies, Innuendo, Mild Sexual Content, Mythology abuse, Pool Noodles, Slow To Update, Spoilers for all seasons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 10:23:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19810339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LingeringEcho/pseuds/LingeringEcho
Summary: In an effort to reestablish order and to bring the demons to heel, Lucifer returns to his place as King of Hell. As he attempts to reestablish his power base in place that has begun to grow accustomed to his absence, he finds himself unable to forget Chloe and the life he left behind.





	1. All New, Faded for Her

Chloe laughed, a happy, girlish sound, as Lucifer walked her backward into the bedroom. She tugged at his shirt, yanking it free of his trousers, while he went to work on the buttons of her blouse.

“Off,” she hummed hazily and slipped her hands beneath his shirt. She shivered. His skin was warm, almost feverish, and satiny soft.

Kissing him, she fumbled with his belt, and then his fly, tugging down his trousers. They fell to the floor in a heap which he casually kicked away.

She wound her arms around his neck as Lucifer parted the fabric of her blouse. He stepped back just enough so that he could press a single open mouth kiss over her heart. His eyelashes fluttered against the swell of her breasts as he breathed deeply, taking in her scent.

He met her eyes before kissing the point of her chin and gave her a shy smile.

“Chloe—”

She answered with a swift kiss, her hands caging the sides of his face, and took a step back. Something bumped against the back of her leg, making her stumble forward into him. It was the bed.

Staring up at him beneath her eyelashes, she gave him an encouraging nod and pulled him down with her.

Laughing, he tumbled after her, and then sat up on his knees so that he could remove his shirt. His hand slid up her side, tickling along her ribs, to brush against the cotton fabric of her bra.

He was trembling, or she was trembling. Chloe could no longer tell. They seemed to be one being, their souls melding together as their bodies would soon follow.

“So, Mister Decker,” she murmured as she arched her back to wiggle out of her jeans. “What do you want to do for the last three days of our honeymoon?”

A low hum rumbled in Lucifer’s throat as he grinned and stretched out beside her. He was savoring the moment while anticipating every second that would follow. 

Eyes on hers, he reached out and traced a lazy pattern bellow her collarbone. His fingertip trailed between her breasts, hitching for a moment on her bra, and dipping down to swirl around her navel.

In a single, fluid movement, he rolled so that he was above her and propped himself up on his elbows.

“The same thing we did for the other five,” he answered, his words dropping down to a rolling purr. “Misses Morningstar.”

Laughing, she slapped at him when he tipped his head down to kiss her and shoved him over onto his back. A flash a surprise colored his features when she flung a leg over his middle and crawled on top of him.

His surprise faded, turning into something else entirely, as he slid his palms up her thighs to brush the lace edge of her panties. They were his favorite shade of purple and decorated with ridiculously adorable tiny pink hearts.

Chloe bent at the waist so that her hair slipped over her shoulders to tickle his bare chest. She kissed him lightly, starting with his eyelids, then his nose, before finally reaching his lips.

“Amenadiel called while you were down in the lobby,” Lucifer murmured as he slipped his hands up her spine to unhook her bra. “It seems Charlie has taught our larva to bite Mazikeen.”

Chloe pressed her lips together to keep from laughing, but nothing could stop her smile.

“Daughter,” she corrected before kissing the end of his nose. “And I’m pretty sure it was the other way around.”

Uttering a faked gasp, Lucifer brought his hand to his chest and slowly shook his head in disbelief.

“Are you suggesting that our feathered sugar bug is using Mazikeen of the Lilim as her very own chew toy?”

“She’s not a dog,” Chloe muttered mock serious, but inwardly smiled. He sounded so indignant. Not at all like the man, nay devil, who had very recently helped Trixie replace all of Maze’s leather chokers with flea collars. Briefly, she wondered if the demon at all regretted teaching Trixie that the best revenge was revenge. 

Seeming to read her mind, Lucifer sighed and rolled his eyes at the ceiling.

“It seems the urchin, your offspring, now my auxiliary offspring, was involved in an altercation with one of her fellow urchins by the name of—”

“Matilda Sutton,” Chloe sighed and slumped against Lucifer so that her forehead rest on his collarbone. “When’s the parent teacher’s conference?”

“Next Tuesday,” he said offhandedly and hooked an arm around the small of her back.

He clutched her to him, molding her against his chest, and rolled so that he once again hovered above her.

“She also declared that her step-father, the devil himself, was going to drag the young Tilly screaming to the pits of hell.”

Lucifer cocked his head sideways, as if to consider, and then shrugged. “Which, other than the fact I don’t work on commission, is something I could definitely arrange. Otherwise, she’s having a splendid time with Amenadiel.”

Chloe pressed her lips together, shaking her head. “Mn, no.”

He started to protest, but before he could, Chloe slipped a hand into the hollow of their bodies and began to gently stroke his length.

“Oh, as you say, Detective,” he purred, his eyes fluttering shut as he began to pepper her face and shoulders with tiny kisses.

She began to wiggle beneath him, almost thrashing, as she struggled to remove her panties with one hand. Enticed by her movement, beneath and around him, Lucifer buried his face into the hollow of her throat.

His head lifted, just enough that their eyes met. “Chloe…”

********

Lucifer bolted upright in bed with a start. Choked breaths spilled from his lips as he frantically glanced around the room. He hugged himself, circling his arms around his knees, as the dream slowly ebbed away.

His tongue flicked out over his lips and shivered before curling in on himself until his forehead rested on his knees. He could still feel the detective’s arms around him, could still smell her, taste her.

Anger and loss streaked through him, and he knew exactly who to blame.

Kaliva!” Lucifer bellowed as he kicked the sheets away from his body. “Kaliva!”

No sooner than he called the demoness' name the second time did she appear at the foot of his bed. Her black wings pulled at the shadows of the room to create a strange nimbus of light around her.

Her carmine eyes met his before she curtseyed low, her long silver hair nearly touching the ground. “Yes, my lord?”

The devil’s eyes hardened as he lounged back against the bed’s stone headboard. One of the great mysteries of the universe was how he managed to be utterly terrifying with bedhead.

“What in the bloody, blazing hells was that?”

Kaliva blinked, her long lashes fluttering, confusion evident on her delicate features. She took a step forward, her booted feet echoing against the stone floor.

“My Lord requested that I prepare a worst-case scenario for him should he however briefly, return to earth. So, I created a dreamscape in which he was saddled with a wife, a child, PTA meetings…”

She frowned, biting her lower lip as she weighed her next words carefully.

“Have I erred, my Lord?”

Breathing out an annoyed breath, Lucifer felt himself immediately calm, as if he were catching himself. It was a bit disappointing, truly, but in this case, he suspected Kaliva was merely the messenger.

“Ordinarily, my dear, I would be horrified, but…”

He exhaled sharply and tipped his head back to stare at the stony ceiling. His chambers in Hell, though opulent, had never seemed more like a prison cell.

It had been only a dream, a nightmare as far as Kaliva was concerned, but could he still see that moment, that life, in his mind’s eye.

Worse deep down, he wanted a life with the detective, with Chloe, and the urchin. He doubted he would ever understand the human desire to procreate, yet, strangely, his heart ached at the realization that his own larva had only been a dream.

Kaliva’s idea of a worst-case scenario was apparently giving him glimpses of a life he couldn’t have. Even so, he still couldn’t bring himself to be truly angry at her.

Sighing, he moved his head just enough to give the girl a dismissive glare.

“You may go.”

“Of course,” Kaliva replied, bowing low before she stepped back amongst the shadows. “I shall await my Lord’s further pleasure.”

Lucifer sighed and drew his knees up, pillowing his head with his arms. It was really his fault for not being entirely clear.

“PTA meetings,” he grumbled into the hollow of his arms, “and the urchin interested in some…boy.”

A figment of the dream world or no, he hated that boy for daring to believe he was even remotely good enough for his urchin. He lolled his head back so he could glare at the ceiling. It was something he had done often as of late.

Grumbling to himself, he rolled out of bed. Now that sleep had alluded him, he may as well walk the grounds.

“Kaliva,” he called as he slipped on his dressing robe. There were a few things he needed to discuss with the newest member of his household. 

On command, the demoness materialized at the foot of his bed and once again curtseyed. “Yes?”

Sighing, he slipped on his robe and knotted the sash as he stared hard at the demon. Although, calling her a demon was something of a misnomer. In truth, like all so-called shadow demons, she was an exiled member of the Seelie Court. A fairy.

“What is it that you do when you’re not serving me?”

“I live to serve you, my Lord,” the fairy replied carefully, wary as if she expected a trap. “All I do is to that end.”

It was a rehearsed answer, a practiced answer. It was what a vassal was supposed to say to her lord. It was not, however, what he wanted to hear. 

His frown deepened as he huffed a heated breath and waited for the demon to flinch. Instead, much to his surprise, she took a tentative step forward. Her booted heels ringing against the stone floor until she stopped a respectful distance from him.

Pursing her painted lips, she slipped her six-fingered hands into her billowing sleeves and met his withering stare with a mild one of her own. 

Amusement hit him in a surprising rush, and he found himself genuinely chuckling for the first time since he had returned to hell. After the near-constant cowing from his subjects for the last few weeks, it was nice to have someone not crumble at his slightest displeasure.

“No, my dear,” he purred, delight winding in his tone. “What is it you do for fun?”

Kaliva blinked at him in surprise, a smile tugging at her lips. She grew shy then, suddenly embarrassed, and ducked her head as she prodded the stone floor with her foot.

“Fun? I suppose…I explore the dreamscape, my lord,” she said softly, briefly meeting his eyes before ducking her head down again. “Damned souls often dream of heaven.”

“Yes,” he breathed, his voice equally quiet, but then smirked with feigned humor. “But then, they’ve never had to live there.”

Kaliva coughed a small laugh and straightened, lowering her hands to her sides. “As you say, my Lord.”

He waited for her to say more, despite knowing well she would not. She was too well mannered to chatter on about herself. It was something he needed to correct sooner rather than later.

“Is dream sending unique to your clan?”

“No, my lord.”

Kaliva bit her lip, revealing tiny fangs, her speech growing overly formal as she tried to explain. It was obvious she was unaccustomed to speaking about herself.

“Yes and no. She who is my mother, Lady Vespana, claims that I am a throwback to what we were before our banishment.”

“I see.” Lucifer nodded, pausing for a moment to tug at his sleeves. “When was the last time you traveled to the mortal plane?”

A line appeared between Kaliva’s brows as she frowned in confusion. “Never.”

Lucifer stilled his expression hardening into a mask. “Then how is it that you know the mortal world so well?”

In truth, he knew the answer, he simply wanted to hear it from her.

“I merely guided your dreamscape down a certain path and allowed your mind to provide the scaffolding,” she began softly, her chin lifting slightly as she spoke. “Which is as I prefer. Too much manipulation and the mind would soon realize it is dreaming.”

He softened by inches and sighed before opening the wardrobe. Inside was clothing from various eras of humanity as well as more otherworldly garb. After a moment’s deliberation, he selected a hooded robe of dark silk and embellished with tiny rubies.

“So, why aren’t you out crushing the dreams of the damned like a good little demon pixie?”

“I suppose,” Kaliva murmured softly, an edge of worry in her tone, “it is because I do not enjoy hurting people.”

“My, aren’t you the infernal unicorn?” he cooed mockingly, watching the muscles of her jaw tighten as she looked away.

Even as he reminded himself that _did not_ didn’t necessarily mean could not or would not, something told him he could trust her.

As a member of Hell’s aristocracy, Kaliva was well suited to many roles within his court. One, in particular, would pacify Lady Vespana as well as curtail certain unwanted attempts to curry favor from the rival lords.

It was nearly identical to the scheme he hatched on earth over a year ago. While he was rather fond of flying by the seat of his pants, as it were, there was no denying a classic. Especially one that had been proven to work.

His lips twisted into a wide, almost painful grin as he took a single step forward. His smile faded, but entirely, when he finally noticed, truly noticed, Kaliva’s wings. Beneath the clinging, writhing shadows were glossy black feathers, like those of a great raven. Faeries with wings such as those were different from other fae, special. 

“My lord?” Kaliva asked, her voice quavering.

His smile returned as he suddenly remembered his plan, and he reached out to take one of her pale hands in his.

“Tell me, my Lady Kaliva, what is it that you most desire?”

********

  
If there was one constant in the universe, it was that Hell was, in fact, hell. His sudden return had sent warring demon lords scrambling to reclaim his favor all the while pretending as though they were not vying for the throne themselves.

Angelic rulership of hell meant little if the demons held most of the power. 

“ _horror vacui_ , my Lord,” his scribe sighed before dropping a pile of treaties before him.

Thousands of years ago he had been a philosopher and teacher in ancient Greece. Now he held the distinction of being the only human within the devil’s infernal court.

“Why so glum, Ari?” Lucifer mused, a hint of a smile curling at his lips. “Hell not what you imagined?”

Ari regarded him down the length of his nose. “The whole is more than a sum of its parts, my Lord.”

He gestured with a flourish before breathing a long, put upon sigh.

“Although, it would gladden my heart if his Lordship could bring himself to eat not quite so much cake.”

Lucifer spared a single, guilty glance to the half-eaten slice of chocolate cake on the edge of his desk. If the urchin were here, it wouldn’t have survived the hour, much less through his entire council meeting.

It had taken him ages to teach her the difference between frosting and ganache, as well as the inherent superiority chocolate curls held over sprinkles. He suspected his lessons fell on deaf ears. For much like all decepitive little parasites, she merely used to opportunity to devour twice as much cake. Sighing he mentally grumbled at the sudden wistfulness filling him. He knew he should stop thinking about her and her mother, the detective, Chloe, but he couldn’t, mostly because he didn’t want to.

“Lady Avaresia sends her warmest regards and awaits your inspection of the wards under her command,” Ari continued, dutifully relaying his report. “She hopes that you will be pleased.”

“Right,” Lucifer drew out, rubbing at his temple as skimmed one of the treaties. “She is also committing forty thousand troops to my command. Which, by my estimate is roughly a quarter of her forces.”

The scribe nodded and pulled pristine vellum scroll from his robes. “She also sent an addendum explaining that the remainder of her forces will be deployed to the wards under her command. A number of which house my Lord’s most hated enemies.”

“Oh,” Lucifer purred, his eyes wide and mocking. “Do tell.”

“Malcolm Graham, Cain, and most recently William Kinley,” Ari read, nodding his head with each name. “Others, of course, but Lady Avaresia has taken a personal interest in those three.”

Lucifer leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs at the knee. Avaresia was one of the first demons he had encountered upon his banishment to Hell. Although, much like Kaliva, calling her a demon wasn't exactly accurate. She was a force, a pure manifestation of hell itself. One that long ago had made it clear that she would recognize no king, save him. He could only shudder at what would've happened to Charlie had Dromos' plan succeeded. While not evil, Lady Averesia was utterly without mercy or pity. Charlie would've been killed as a usurper and Dromos would soon be wishing he had been. 

With that in mind, it was no surprise she would oversee the punishment of his enemies personally. A sly smirk curled at his lips.

“Speaking of? How is Jas’perieth these days?”

“Irreverent,” Ari scoffed and fussily twisted at a ring one of his knotted fingers. “He flirts constantly with Lady Avaresia, despite knowing full well he’s beneath her station. When he is not doing that, he’s…”

He breathed a sigh of mock despair before pulling another scroll from his robes. “Suffice it to say, he is much the same.”

Lucifer poked at his cake for a moment before returning his attention back to the treaties. “So, punishing liars, oathbreakers, traitors, and…”

“Cain, my Lord.”

A flash of surprise flickered in Lucifer’s eyes as he tried otherwise not to react. Punishments in hell were justice, not revenge, and so, he must remain impartial. Even so, it did little to curb the desire to give Cain, Pierce, a few hours of his personal attention.

“Well,” Lucifer chirped and then schooled his features into a calm, apathetic mask. “I find myself both needing and not wanting to know.”

Ari grimaced, his lips pressing together in a firm, forbidding line. Being a scribe, rather than an advisor had its advantages. The greatest being that there was an off chance the devil might actually listen to him.

“Jasper may look like a twice burnt potato, but he—”

The shadows around Ari began to swirl and coalesce as an unseen wind silently buffeted the room. He turned just as Kaliva materialized in the room.

“Ah, Lady Kaliva,” he announced fondly, greeting the young woman with a polite half-bow. “I trust you are well?”

“I am, Master Ari,” she replied warmly, gently inclining her head to the scribe before turning to give Lucifer a full curtsey.

“My Lord.”

A change came over Lucifer as he rose from his chair and stepped around the desk. Smiling broadly, he spread his arms wide and beckoned to Kaliva with his best come hither stare. Chuckling softly beneath her breath, she folded her wings with a small jerk of her shoulders and stepped into the circle of his arms.

Standing on tiptoe, she pressed a light, chaste kiss the corner of his mouth. “I have missed you, my Lord.”

“Oh, indeed,” he purred before tipping his head down to nuzzle at her throat. 

His hands slid up her spine, his fingers slipping into the laces of her corset as he ran his tongue up the shell of her pointed ear. She fisted her hands into his clothes, pulling him close. Her heart hammered against his, fast and fluttery like a bird’s. He couldn't tell if she was excited or terrified. Unsure, he pulled away just enough so that he could look her in the eyes. She smiled faintly and kissed him again, her eyes darting sideways to Ari.

Seeming to get the message, Ari cleared his throat, pausing for a moment to cough into his hand.

“Pardon me, my Lord, my Lady,” he replied hastily, bowing to each in turn. “If there is nothing else? I shall return to my duties.”

Lucifer made a noncommittal noise as he slid his hands into Kaliva’s sleeves, stroking the lengths of her arms.

“You may go,” he murmured, barely sparing Ari a glance, and clasped Kaliva’s shoulders from beneath her gown.

Breathing the sigh of martyrs, Ari turned toward to the door only to stop short when Lucifer called after him.

“Oh, inform Barvis that I will be a tad late for our hunt this evening,” he hummed, the ghost of a laugh in his voice, and turned his attention back to Kaliva. “Now tell me, my dear, how do we get you out of this gown?”

The moment Ari left the room and closed the door soundly behind him, Lucifer pulled away from Kaliva and looked away as she straightened her gown. 

Flushing, she stared down at her feet, her hands fisting into her gown at her sides. “Did I please you?”

Softening, Lucifer frowned and cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. In truth, he felt strangely guilty. 

“You were perfect,” he said sincerely and pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. “I dare say I hadn’t seen that much color in Ari’s cheeks in thousands of years.”

Kaliva giggled into her fist before lowering her arms, allowing them to dangle freely at her sides. After a moment, she wrinkled her nose a little and tipped her head sideways, obviously confused.

“Although, I must say I am still not entirely sure what you meant when you asked me to your beard.”

Bemused, Lucifer returned to his desk and once again began shuffling through his treaties. “Simply put, I wish for you to pose as my paramour. In keeping with that role, I will bestow upon you a number of rights and privileges, but sadly, very few of the actual perks.”

Only half listening, Kaliva edged closer to the desk, just enough so that she could read over his shoulder. It was a contract of some form with her mother’s seal at the very bottom. When Lucifer looked up, she gasped, realizing she had been caught, and averted her eyes.

“Perks?” she asked, her voice little more than a squeak. “My lord has already sent me many lovely gowns and the grandest of jewels. I need nothing more.”

“Sex.”

Kaliva sputtered, eyes widening as she opened and mouth, and shook her head. “Pardon?”

“Copulate, canoodle, shag, adult naptime, take a trip to pound town, batter dip the corndog, pelvic pinochle, release the Kraken, shampoo the Wookie, make the beast with two backs…”

Lucifer frowned, curling in his lips, and eyed Kaliva warily. Sensing no deception, he exhaled through his nostrils and shook his head. The denizens of hell, especially those like Kaliva whose role in hell was not to torture, were often confused by his anachronisms. This level of naivety, however, was another matter entirely.

“You have no idea what I’m going on about, do you?”

“I…yes, no, that is to say, my Lord…” Kaliva bit her lip, revealing the tips of her fangs, before she took a deep breath, steeling herself. “I have never partaken, but I know of what you speak.”

“Oh,” he breathed, eyes widening in realization, “Never? Oh, I never considered you could be a—”

“What’s a corndog?” Kaliva asked, quite innocently, but there was something about her expression that suggested she was letting him off the hook.

“It’s a sausage on a stick that has been dipped in cornmeal batter and deep-fried,” he gushed, clasping a hand to his chest. “They’re positively delightful!”

Kaliva looked dubious and cocked her head sideways, giving him her full scrutiny.

“That sounds very much like something Squee would eat. Except, he would no doubt replace the sausage with a—”

“—crystal spider,” they said in unison, and then Lucifer groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a sudden headache.

“For the love of… If I’ve told him once, I’ve told him a million times. What is it with him and those blasted spiders?”

Kaliva began to speak, but then stopped and pursed her lips for a long, thoughtful moment.

“His mother has six arms?” she supplied helpfully, shrugging her slender shoulders.

Lucifer sighed, shaking his head, and fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, what of it?”

Kaliva gave him a rare challenging look, her carmine eyes glittering with amusement.

“Ah, I see what you did there,” Lucifer hummed, his words ending in a low, rolling chuckle. “Speaking of? Where is Squee?”

The demon crossed her arms over her chest and slipped her clawed hands into her sleeves. “He is scrubbing the palace windows as you commanded.”

Lucifer nodded in approval, but then frowned and tilted his head at Kaliva’s questioning look. Before he could say anything, however, a telltale wind buffeted the room. It tugged at the tapestries hanging along the walls and sent the treaties on his desk scattering.

When the wind died, an ivory winged angel with a bow held loosely in one hand, appeared in the center the office. All meekness forgotten, Kaliva growled viciously, a sound that seemed impossible for her dainty form, and unfurled her wings.

She dove in front of Lucifer, shielding him from their intruder. Shadows writhed around her, twisting and lashing, making it impossible for the angel to approach.

“Shit!” the angel cursed, barely dodging a shadowy tendril as it grappled for his leg. In a single, practiced motion, he lifted his bow. Instead of reaching one of the brightly fletched arrows in his quiver, he gripped his bow and held it up as if were a club.

Slipping into an easy defensive stance, the angel eyed the shadows as they thickened and writhed. He took a step forward, dodging the shadows, but then fell back, surprised when the shadows retreated.

“Not willing to hurt me unless you have to, huh?” the angel chortled and smirked before lashing toward Kaliva with his wings. 

The demon’s own wings lunged forward on instinct, shielding her from what she realized was purely a feint. She glanced behind her and winced, clamping her eyes shut, as her lord unfurled his brilliant white wings, filling the room with blinding light.

“Enough!” Lucifer bellowed, his voice echoing around the small the chamber as he appeared in front of Kaliva. “You dare—”

“Ah! Lucifer, I've been looking everywhere for you!” the angel crowed, slinging his bow over one shoulder so that he could clap his hands.

Amused, irreverent, and utterly unbothered, he furled his wings with a quick jerk of his shoulders and gave Kaliva a cheeky wink.

“That was kind of hot.”

Kaliva blinked at the angel, obviously confused. "What was?"

“Hasdiel?” Lucifer gasped, confusion coloring his surprise, and folded back his wings. “What are you doing here?”

Hasdiel brightened before bowing low and flung his hands out in a flourish.

“I, little brother, am here to rescue you!”


	2. Never Far From the Queen

“Hell, the final frontier,” Hasdiel intoned from the palace battlements. He braced his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest as he stared out into the dark and forbidding landscape.

Though never cheery, the area was brighter once, long before the shadow demons had claimed this part of hell as their territory. In name only, of course, Hell itself only recognized its angelic master.

“These are the voyages of the angel Hasdiel,” Hasdiel continued, now nearly shouting, “and his less attractive and not at all charming little brother Lucifer!”

Ash rained down on him, like a cold, mournful drizzle, dirtying his ivory wings, but the angel seemed utterly unbothered.

Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose and smiled a grimacing glare heavenward before breathing a plaintive sigh. Most of the ash seemed willing to ignore him in favor of falling on Hasdiel. A small blessing, such as it was, in a place such as this. 

“Hasdiel.”

It was pointless and he knew it. Hasdiel, or Cupid as he preferred, would continue until he got it out of his system or until something needed to be impaled with an arrow. Lucifer sighed again and pressed his palm to his face. Typically, the arrow came after the monologue. 

“Their mission to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new hotties and new libations. To boldly come where no angel has come before!”

The angel’s snorting laughter rang into the courtyard, echoing around the stone walls around them.

“Sorry, Louie,” Hasdiel chirped as he hopped down from his perch.

“Verchiel has been on a nonstop Trek binge since Leonard beamed himself up there. Alas. _Est quod est._ ”

Lucifer only half-listen to his older brother. Instead, he stilled until his face was an impassive mask, and tipped his head just enough to see around the corner. There, clinging to a windowsill with long, spindly fingers, was the demon known as Squee.

Squee gently inclined his scabby head in acknowledgment before he fished a filthy rag from the bucket tied to one of the large brass loops on his belt. He paid his lord no further mind but instead returned to cleaning the windows.

Slowly he scrubbed, back and forth, peeling away layers of ash and soot, to reveal the peacock hued stained glass beneath. Sometimes light from stars nearing their ends would shine down to hell. Their brilliant fiery rays would pass through the windows, lighting the palace in kaleidoscope patterns.

There would always be more ash afterward as if the stars had been condemned to hell with their master.

“So, I went down to earth,” Hasdiel informed a bit too loudly, in an effort to get Lucifer’s attention. “Met our nephew, and, of course, his mother. I have never met a woman with rock bottom standards, so that was interesting. Oh, and I shot Mazikeen.”

“You what?”

“With a love arrow, Louie,” Hasdiel sighed, shaking his head in disbelief, and shrugged his shoulders just enough to shake the ash from his wings.

“Last I saw she was making out with bathroom mirror.”

Lucifer snorted and looked away as he tried not to laugh. True or not, he knew exactly what his brother was attempting. “Why are you here?”

“I told you,” Hasdiel reminded quietly, his expression serious. “I came to get you out of here.”

Lucifer inhaled through his nostrils and stared up at what passed for Hell’s sky. As always, there were heavy, ash-filled clouds and little light. He wasn’t sure how he felt. Relieved? Touched? Perhaps even annoyed. It seemed no matter what choice he made for his life someone, somewhere had other ideas.

“The way I see it,” Hasdiel stated, the muscles of his jaw clenching as he bit out his words. “Our older brother’s inability to wear a condom is at least half the reason you’re stuck down here. So, it should be his ass watching over the place.”

Lucifer brightened as a sly smile curled at his lips. Millennia ago, when was he welcomed within the Silver City, Hasdiel had been a warrior angel, second to only Amenadiel. A fact Amenadiel never let Hasdiel forget. Their rivalry had been endearing until it suddenly wasn’t.

“The demons don’t respect him,” Lucifer admitted firmly. “It was all he could do to watch the gates.”

“You mean the self-proclaimed bestest angel ever is actually a miserable failure?” Hasdiel muttered with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “Color me unsurprised.”

He ran his hand down the length of his bow, brushing the ash from its pearlescent surface. “You were there. You know why I quit being a warrior angel.”

Sighing Lucifer lolled his head back and blinked as the gently falling ash dusted his face. It was an old story, one that could never end happily for everyone. Amenadiel believed that Hasdiel was wasting his talent. While Hasdiel believed it was his talent to waste. There was a girl, a silly mortal girl that Hasdiel loved beyond reason. 

“Yes,” he answered quietly, hoping, but also knowing the answer wasn’t enough.

It never was, especially with mortals. Seven years on earth had taught him that. It also had taught the fine art of evasion.

“You and Amenadiel had a number of creative differences, as I recall.”

“Which is a nice way of saying, I despise the son of a bitch,” Hasdiel countered, but then cringed a bit and gave a sideways upward glance to the sky. “Sorry, Mom.”

He jerked his shoulders once, sending motes of ash scattering around him, and folded back his wings.

“He stomped on the pieces of my broken heart and demanded to be thanked for the privilege.”

A shriek like that of an owl pierced through the darkness, echoing off the nearby basalt columns in a disjointed cacophony. The demon clinging to the palace wall yelped and scrambled to cover his ears against the sound.

“I know, I know. Amenadud’s continued existence is punishment enough,” Hasdiel grumbled to the sky, but then smiled faintly as he glanced back to Lucifer. “ _amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus.”_

Lucifer smiled tightly, his eyes hard, and gave his brother a curt nod. “Indeed.”

Hasdiel chuckled softly to himself, slowly shaking his head. After a moment, he swung his arms forward before clasping his hands together in a clap.

“Our brothers and sisters. They all laughed when I took on the mantel of Cupid, but now…” he choked out a laugh as he shifted his bow from one shoulder to the other. “now they’re up there waving their little Deckerstar flags.”

The angel stepped forward to lay his hands on the wall and stared out to the valley below. “You won’t leave with me.”

“I can’t,” Lucifer murmured and moved to stand beside his brother.

There were lights moved in a bouncing pattern along the basalt columns that lined the valley. They wandered just off the path, but always in sight, blinking in and out of this reality. Mortals called them faeries, will o’ the wisps, but in truth, they were simply souls caught between worlds. The lights dimmed, blinking out of sight, as the wisps slipped once more between the planes.

“ _si tacuisses, philosophus mansisses.”_

“Too true, little brother, too true” Hasdiel mused half to himself, but then managed a laugh. “Humans should’ve never stopped speaking Latin. It makes almost anyone sound smart.”

Lucifer snorted, but also half-smiled. If it had been anyone else, the words would’ve been a slight. It was Hasdiel, and so he decided to engage in one of their old hobbies from happier times.

“Everyone but Amenadiel.”

“Hey, I did say almost,” Hasdiel reminded, his hazel eyes glittering with laughter.

The owl screeched again, distant and echoing, but almost as if were answering or reminding someone of something forgotten.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hasdiel whispers, his words ending in a sigh. He smiled tightly, or rather he tried, but only managed to look resigned.

“I suppose that’s that then?”

Lucifer frowned, but then nodded, feeling strangely wary. “Yes.”

Hasdiel took a step back and rolled his shoulders to unfurl his wings. Lucifer returned his attention to the valley. The will o’ the wisps slipped through the planes once more to once again wander hell. Would any of them ever find their way home?

“Hasdiel, you should—”

He pivoted on his heel just as the wind ticked up and his brother disappeared. Gone home perhaps, or to the Outlands. Earth too remained a possibility. Either way, he was no longer in Hell. 

“Well,” Lucifer snapped, muttering to himself, and tugged at the sleeves of his robe. Squaring his jaw, he turned to where Squee clung to palace wall only to find the small demon gone.

He was alone, a rarity in itself, and he almost didn’t know how to react. Sighing, he unfurled his wings with a jerk of his shoulders and flew up to his throne.

Alone or not, he may as well remind everyone of who was king.

*********

If given the choice between mortal plane and home, Hasdiel always picked the Outlands. Needless to say, he’d always been a fan of the third option. Even so, he found himself returning to the mortal plane, specifically Los Angeles. If he were to help Lucifer, there was one final thing he needed to verify before he made any further plans.

“Never put the cart before the horse,” he chuckled as he landed on the rooftop of a run-down apartment complex. “Not unless you’re into that sort of thing.”

Frowning, he looked around and realized that despite the hours he had spent in hell, very little had passed on the mortal plane. As interesting and frightening as it was, it was also something of a welcomed surprise. Life on earth waited for no one, not even the devil. Time, however, was a fickle mistress, especially between the planes. It was only a matter of manipulating it to his favor-or, in this case, Lucifer’s.

He slipped his bow from his shoulder as he walked to the edge of the roof. Peering down to the street below, he watched as a late model pulled into the parking lot below.

If his hunch was correct, it belonged to mortal known as Chloe Decker. According to Azrael, one mortal had killed another in one of the apartments below. There had been a fight over money or sex or sexy money. The Angel of Death hadn’t been sure.

Either way, the whys of the deaths mattered less than Azrael’s willingness to help. He could only assume he had her tentative blessing. Which wasn’t exactly surprising. Lucifer had always been her favorite brother.

Hasdiel shook his head willing himself to focus. There would be plenty of time to ponder Azrael’s motive. For now, he needed to check the status of his horse or, perhaps, his cart.

He waited until Chloe climbed out of her car, and then, with an ease that came from millennia of practice, pulled an ivory fletcher arrow from the quiver at his back. Glancing briefly skyward, he centered himself and aimed for the center of Chloe’s chest.

The arrow flew from his bow, speeding unerringly toward Chloe Decker’s heart. While love arrows couldn’t kill, they could reveal certain truths. Holding his breath, he watched counting the seconds until impact, but then made a sound of pure awe when the arrow passed through Chloe to embed in a nearby telephone pole.

Pleased laughter spilled from Hasdiel’s lips as he stumbled, nearly falling from the roof in his excitement. There was still hope. Now all he needed was a plan. Perhaps his sweet sister had a few ideas. He gathered himself quickly, calming, and reached out to summon the spent arrow back to his hand.

Just as he plucked it from the air, a sudden gust of wind buffeted him from behind. His expression soured and turned slowly on his heel as he slid the arrow back into its quiver.

“Amenadiel!” he chirped, his voice honeyed, but with the barest hint of venom. “Surely you’re not here to slum with the likes of me?”

Amenadiel visibly flinched, but then recovered quickly. He strode forward, sizing up the younger angel. Hasdiel was as he remembered him, slight, but lithe, and deceptively fragile. His strength was never in muscle but in speed and deadly accuracy.

When he came within inches of Hasdiel, he smiled broadly and clapped him on the shoulder. “Brother!”

Hasdiel froze, his eyes darting sideways at the hand on his shoulder. His eyes fluttered shut as he swallowed the bile at the back of his throat. One of the many bits of wisdom his sweet little sister had imparted over the millennia was that Amenadiel was not worth his rage.

He agreed, of course. How could he not? Sweet sister was the wisest of the angels, but he was not and so his hatred endured. 

“So, brother,” Amenadiel coaxed as he carefully removed his hand from his brother’s shoulder. “What brings you here? Finally bored exploring the Outlands?”

Hasdiel forced a chuckle and shook his head before slinging his bow over one shoulder.

“Never!” he declared, his eyes wide and teasing. “I’m looking for Lucifer, actually.”

Lines appeared at the corners of Amenadiel's lips as he grimaced, faltering slightly. For a fleeting moment, he almost looked guilty. “Lucifer? Why?”

Hasdiel snorted and walked to the edge of the roof to look down at Chloe. She was speaking with a dark haired woman, Ella Lopez if his information was correct.

“For starters, while I was away, he seems to have usurped my place as family slut,” Hasdiel began, his voice warm and irreverent. “I also heard that…”

He laughed suddenly and shot Amenadiel a small apologetic smile over his shoulder. “Forgive me. I know you don’t love him as I do.”

“He can try even the most patient of us,” Amenadiel admitted with a grimace and moved to stand beside Hasdiel on the ledge. “But he is our brother, and well, it’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” Hasdiel repeated with a sardonic bob of his head. He clasped his hands together suddenly and smiled broadly. “Oh, before I forget. I understand congratulations are in order?”

A quick smile flashed to Amenadiel’s features as he chuckled softly and looked bashful and proud all at once. “I never dreamt—"

“Imagine my surprise when I learned that you were able to convince Lucifer to willingly return to hell and for good this time?” Hasdiel gasped in amazement, but his eyes were hard and churning with rage. “That he willingly gave up his chance at true happiness all to protect your son. That sort of selfish duplicity is exactly what I’ve come to expect from you. Bravo, brother. Bravo.”

“That’s not—”

“Have even bothered to go see him?” Hasdiel asked simply, but not unkindly. “He’s been alone for months, protecting this world, fighting your battles.”

Amenadiel grimaced and looked away, unable to speak for a long moment. “My son is innocent.”

“I know,” Hasdiel answered, but gasped when Chloe met his eyes from the street below. He hadn’t planned on contacting her directly, but now he thought perhaps he should.

“So were the children I could’ve had were it not for you.”

Amenadiel clenched his fists at his side but held his ground. He was uncertain of what to say. At the time, he had done what he thought was right, what his father commanded. Now he realized he was as blind as any mortal.

“If could take back what happened, I would, a thousand times. I was prideful and I was wrong. But don’t let my shortsightedness condemn you. You don’t have to be alone, Hasdiel!”

“I’m not alone, Amenadiel,” Hasdiel said with a chuckle and unfurled his wings with a quick jerk of his shoulders. “I have my lovers and The Outlands and every mortal who chooses peace over war. But none of them could ever replace the hazel-eyed children that now only exist in my dreams.”

He took a deep breath and smiled down at Chloe. If he didn’t know better, he could almost say she was waiting for him.

“I grant your son my blessing and wish him all the joy in the world,” he murmured as turned away from Amenadiel. If he had his way, this time it would be forever. 

“Rest assured, I am not you. I would never exploit an innocent for my own glory.”

On the street below, Chloe gasped and took a reflexive step forward as Hasdiel tipped backward off the roof. The angel plummeted a few feet, but then he extended his wings fully, easily catching the wind. He glided down in a circle, like a paper airplane in the wind, before landing safely on the street.

He flashed her a cheeky grin before bowing low and folded his wings with a quick jerk of his shoulders. “’sup, pretty lady!”

Chloe opened her mouth, but closed it quickly, unable to speak more than a raspy gurgle. Eyes bulging, she shook her head before she tried again. “Excuse me?”

“Oh,” Hasdiel mouthed more than said and looked around slightly chagrined. “Apologies. I said the first thing that popped in my head again, didn’t I?”

Unable to help herself, Chloe smiled and narrowed her eyes to a playful squint.

“Yeah,” she whispered, slowly nodding her head. “You kinda did.”

Chuckling, Hasdiel shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back his heels. “It’s an angel thing, I assure you. Oh, and before I forget, apologies on the arrow.”

“Wait, arrow?” Chloe repeated, fingers twitching when for a split second she considered reaching for her gun. “What do you mean arrow?”

“Well, you didn’t seem to notice, so I wasn’t going to mention it, but yes,” Hasdiel chirped as if was the most normal thing in the world, “I shot you with an arrow.”

“You shot at me with an arrow?” she repeated in disbelief. This time she did reach for her gun but didn’t bother to draw it. She knew it would do her little good. “Drop the weapon.”

To her surprise, the angel complied without so much as a moment’s hesitation.

“No, I did shoot you,” he explained, shrugging as he nudged the bow closer to her so that she could scoop it off the pavement.

“Right through the heart, even.”

If the angel continued speaking, Chloe no longer heard. Instead, she hugged the bow to her chest, feeling its warm weight against her skin. Her minded winded and wheeled, reliving every moment she had with Lucifer. Good memories and bad, all equal in importance, all reminding her of the man she loved. The man she lost.

“Who are you?” she stammered; her voice thick with tears.

“I am Hasdiel,” the angel said kindly and gently took the bow from her. “Although, amongst mortals, I’m most commonly known as Cupid.”

“Cupid?” Chloe gasped, bewildered as she wiped away her tears. “What do you want with me? Has… has something happened to Lucifer?”

Hasdiel nodded faintly before slipping his bow over his shoulder, out of her reach.

“Forgive me, I did this whole thing wrong. If Ithuriel were here, I would ask her to rewind time, but she’d be cross but…” he breathed out a sigh and shook his head. “Never mind. I…just wanted to tell you that while love doesn’t always conquer all, it can knife a few bitches out the door.”

“What?” Chloe laughed, shaking her head, and widened her tear-filled eyes at him in disbelief. Hasdiel shrugged and smiled sheepishly back at her.

“It’s something my sister, Jophiel, told me once when I was lost and full of sorry,” he explained as he tipped his head back to look fondly at the sky. “It loses a bit in translation, I’m afraid.”

Chloe hummed a hopeless sound, her lips vibrating slightly as she slowly shook her head. In truth, she was a bit wary. It had only been a week since demons were running amok through Los Angeles.  
  
“She sounds interesting."

“ _Alis propriis volat,_ ” Hasdiel said fondly, but then frowned realizing Chloe likely knew little of Latin. “Joffy is mean spirited and surly, but she’ll also hold your hair when you need to throw up.”

Chloe choked out a laugh, unable to stop herself. Briefly, she wondered if Hasdiel knew he had just quoted the state motto of Oregan. 

“Some people would say that makes her a good friend.”

Hasdiel nodded. “and an even better sister,” he agreed simply, and took a small step back. “I am pleased to have met you, Chloe.”

“Wait!” Chloe cried just as the wind from the angel’s unfurling wings buffeted her. “What about Lucifer?”

Hasdiel sighed and looked briefly skyward. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Amenadiel watching and wary.

 _I’m not you,_ he mentally hissed, but then turned back to Chloe and sighed. “I’m trying to help him, to bring him back to you or wherever he may wish to go. Sadly, I have no idea where to begin.”

Before Chloe say another, he kicked off the pavement and took to the sky. She tipped her head back and watched him fly away as she had Lucifer not too long ago.

“Wait…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Latin phrases:
> 
> Est quod est: It is that which is. Or less politely, "fuck it."
> 
> amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus: Love is rich with honey and venom
> 
> si tacuisses, philosophus mansisses: If you had remained silent, you would've remained a philosopher.
> 
> alis propriis volat: She flies on her own wings


	3. In Hushed Whispers

“You know what would be awesome?”

Kaliva looked up from her embroidery to look curiously up at Squee. The diminutive demon had finished the windows on the west side of the palace and was currently on something called a _break_. The demon's short stint on the mortal plane had given him some peculiar notions. 

“No, what?”

“Oh,” Squee muttered mournfully before collapsing in a heap on the floor, nearly hitting his head on the flagstones. “I was hoping you did.”

Kaliva spared the demon a brief eye roll before returning to her sewing. She reached for a spool of dark wool yarn but changed her mind in favor of the purple. Her lord needed more color in his wardrobe.

She licked the end of the thread with a quick of her tongue and threaded one of the long-eyed needles stuck in the small cushion on her lap.

Clan legend held that the needles had been a gift to Moirai from the angel Raziel. Whether there was any truth to it, Kaliva could not be certain. She only knew that old dreams clung to the needles. Ancient hopes, like passages of an unfinished story, echoed in her mind when he sewed and came through her embroidery.

She frowned at a dangling thread and reached for her embroidery snips resting on the small table beside her. They were the purest silver she had ever seen and as sharp as a demon’s blade. The handles were delicate filigree and formed a peacock’s tail that tapered down to a bird-like beak for the blades.

Lucifer had given her the snips not long after she entered his service. She still was not sure of the reasons behind their current arrangement or why it seemed to slant so heavily in her favor. Even so, Lucifer was a good sort with an honest reputation. If he promised to help her, she had no doubts he would.

She carefully snipped the loose thread and returned the snips to the table. Whispering an incantation beneath her breath, she gently wound her sixth finger around a lock of her silvery hair and gently pulled until several strands came loose in her hand.

She rolled them between her thumb and index finger until they formed a single strand. Carefully, she tied off the end before threading it through a second needle.

The shadows pooling at her feet began to writhe, agitated at of the weight of Squee's beady-eyed stare. 

“Yes?”

The little demon squeaked in surprise. He scuttled back a bit, but then seemed to calm and dropped in a squat at her feet.

“What are you making?” he asked, lowering his backside to the floor so that his thin, scabby knees jutted up to his knees.

“A cloak for our lord,” she answered softly, shifting in her chair before adjusting her embroidery hoop. “And a tunic, if I have time.”

Squee nodded as he watched her sew. Her needle piercing the dark fabric like a tiny silver stiletto. Color erupted in the needle’s wake, purple and silver, forming patterns and pictures. He nodded slowly, seemingly mesmerized, as Kaliva wove a world in silk, wool, and strands of silver hair.

The fairy had good hands, talented hands. If she were a damned soul, he would be wearing them on his belt.

“Crewelwork,” the demon said, to himself, and began fiddling with one of the empty metal rings at his waist. “Some of your clan has interbred with demons, but you smell like a pureblood.”

Kaliva regarded the demon mildly as she tied off her stitch and changed needles. Squee was craftier than his kin would give him credit. She had seen it in his dreams.

“I have my doubts.”

The demon shrugged his emaciated shoulders. “You’re not a demon,” he murmured, giving her a sullen look before he began picking at a scab on his knee. “So, you’re not bound by Lucifer’s decree.”

Giving up on her sewing, at least for the moment, Kaliva folded the cloak and dropped it in the basket at her feet. She glanced over her shoulder at the water clock. It was still hours before Lucifer was due to return.

“I am in spirit,” she began cautiously, looking back at the demon. Her carmine eyes narrowed as she made a mental note to peek in on the demon’s dreams that evening. He was obviously up to something.

“Hell is the only home I’ve ever known.”

Squee nodded thoughtfully and tapped at his pointed chin with his long, gnarled fingers. “But you could leave, if you wanted.”

“And just where would I go?” Kaliva asked with a shake of her head, before reaching down to retrieve her sewing. The best way to deal with Squee was to simply ignore him.

“I believe our lord gave you a command.”

“He did,” Squee agreed with a bob of his head and hopped to his feet.

“You know, if you did leave, he couldn’t send anyone after you. Not unless he violated his own decree.”

Without a further word, he walked to the huge window dominating one wall of the room. Its once colorfully panes stained dark with and filth gathered during King of Hell’s long absence. Carefully, the demon unlatched the window and allowed it to swing open. He turned and bowed to Kaliva, almost as an afterthought, and climbed outside to resume his sentence.

“Now I understand why Mother hates the Lilim,” Kaliva grumbled as ash billowed into the room from the open window.

Sighing, she once again set aside her embroidery and rose from her chair. She walked to the window and pulled it closed. Just as she latched it, the ash at her feet swirled with a sudden buffet of wind.

Believing it was her lord, she smiled warmly and turned gracefully to greet him.

“Welcome home, my—”

Her words ended in a gasp at the sight of an unfamiliar angel standing before her. Slipping into a defensive stance, Kaliva unfurled her wings with a quick jerk of her shoulders. The shadows of the room began to wind around her, writhing, but not striking. A warning that didn’t seem to trouble her visitor in the slightest.

“Greetings, your grace, or whatever it is you high ranking hell spawn call each other,” the angel deadpanned and stretched so that her yellow and pink wings flared.

“Where is my idiot brother? Either or any of them. I don’t care at this point.”

Kaliva glared, wary, and pulled her shadows back until they molded over her limbs like swirling armor.

“Those worthy of knowing my lord’s whereabouts have already been informed,” she declared in her most commanding tone. “If you wish to speak with him, you must first petition for an audience.”

The angel snorted, infinitely amused, and eyed Kaliva from head to toe. “Did you just tell me to make an appointment?”

“I…yes,” Kaliva began, taken aback, and allowed her shadows to slacken just slightly. She wasn't confrontational by nature. “If my lord wishes to address you, he will summon you to court.”

“Summon me to court,” the angel repeated, grimly amused, and sighed. “I am Jophiel, your lord’s sister. Older, but not by enough to truly matter.”

Jophiel folded her wings with a jerk of her shoulders and walked over to the filthy window. She tilted her head, watching as bits of the ash and soot flaked away beneath Squee’s vigorous scrubbing.

“He’s spying again,” Kaliva muttered, huffing a breath as she glared at the small demon through a clean spot in the window. “I am baffled as to why my Lord Lucifer would keep one such as he in his service.”

Jophiel chuckled, shaking her honey blonde hair from her shoulders. “Your lord is very clever, far more so than his actions would lead one to believe.”

Kaliva blinked, unsure how to responds to what was essentially a backhanded compliment to her lord. So, she decided to simply let it go.

“I am Kaliva,” she said softly in her most regal tone, and released her shadows, allowing them to flit around the dimly lighted room as they may. “As I said before, my lord is not available.”

“I know who you are,” Jophiel muttered as she tightened the laces on her right bracer. “Raziel told me all about you.”

Kaliva gasped, brightened, her carmine eyes sparkling with fondness. The shadows danced, casting strange patterns around the room.

“I am honored Lady Raziel remembers me. She and I have met on occasion in the dreamscape. She seems truly kind.”

Jophiel shrugged and looked utterly unimpressed.

“She is,” she agreed and reached down to pick up Kaliva’s needlework from the basket, “until you piss her off. Which thankfully is difficult to do.”

“Piss her off?” Kaliva repeated with a frown, unsure, and worried her fangs over her bottom lip. “Why would anyone purposely anger her?”

Jophiel chuckled, her shoulders lifting slightly in a shrug. Without warning, she spun back toward the window and flung it open, knocking Squee from his perch.

Kaliva’s surprised shriek mirrored the small demon’s as she raced to the window, shoving the angel aside. Despite knowing it was too late, she climbed into the window frame, intent on flying after the small demon.

She did not like Squee, no one did, but she would not simply let him die. Before she could leap out the window, she heard an annoyed grunting sound and looked down to see the little demon glaring up at her from a lower ledge.

“Wiley little thing,” Jophiel snickered from behind Kaliva's shoulder as if she hadn’t almost murdered someone. “Hopefully, that will teach him not to eavesdrop.”

Kaliva stiffened, her spine going ramrod straight, as she climbed from the window to level a cool gaze at the angel. “You don’t know Squee.”

Jophiel made a face, annoyed, but mostly amused, and then shrugged her shoulders. “And for that, I do believe I’m thankful.”

“Angel or no, you cannot simply…” Kaliva stammered, flustered as she glared at Jophiel. “Whatever in the world is wrong with you?”

The angel looked at her blankly, all smug humor gone. She had a dusting of freckles along her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose. They made her seem young and innocent. Not at all like a person who would shove someone out a window.

“Ithuriel, is that you?” she deadpanned, peering wide-eyed at Kaliva. Snorting, she moved away from the window, tutting beneath her breath.

“Joffy don’t do that! Don’t do this!" the angel began in a nasally sing-song voice. "Don’t bury Gabriel to his neck in confectioner's sugar and leave him for days. No, I don’t care if he secretly likes it. Nice not knives, Joffy! On and on and on! She’s positively stifling.”

Kaliva flinched, twitching, and shoved her hands into her billowing sleeves.

“That may very well be, however,” she began patiently, sighing as she shook her head. “As I said, Lord Lucifer is occupied and will not be able to receive anyone today. Master Hasdiel is likewise away. I do not know when either will return.” 

“Hasdiel will return once he’s figured a way to get Lucifer out of this mess,” Jophiel replied pointedly, ignoring Kaliva’s unspoken dismissal. “Thousands upon thousands of years and he picks now to act.”

The angel paused as if just noticing something, and reached down to retrieve Kaliva’s needlework from the basket.

“Did Raziel teach you?” the angel murmured, curious as she traced the elaborate stitching of the cloak with one long finger. “Magic, I mean.”

“A few things, yes,” Kaliva admitted carefully, chewing at her bottom lip. “The rest I learned on my own and from my clan. Lucifer knows.”

Jophiel dropped the cloak back into the basket, her eyes widening as she brought a hand to her chest. 

“Oh? Did you think I was planning to blackmail you?” she asked, her voice dropping to a lilting purr. “No, I’m here because I know about the arrangement between you and my brother, and I’d like a make a counteroffer.”

The angel extended her hand, palm up toward Kaliva. There in the center was a large oblong seed. It was hard and woody, but pulsed like something alive, something magic.

Tears stung in Kalvia’s eyes as she reached out, but didn’t quite, didn’t dare, touch the seed. “Where did you find that?”

“It’s the seed of a Fae Tree,” Jophiel offered as if it weren’t obvious to Kaliva. “Useless in my hands, or any angel’s hands, but for a Fae Queen such as yourself? Why it could give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”

She closed her hand over the seed, and it vanished as if it never were.

“Which brings me to my offer. Sweet little sister Raziel is fretting about this whole business with Lucifer back in hell. Which, sadly, has also had the unfortunate consequence of reminding Hasdiel of just how much he hates Amenadiel.”

“Master Amenadiel tried to rule hell once,” Kaliva answered quietly, trying to dismiss the image of the seed from her mind. “It went poorly.”

“I’m not surprised,” Jophiel chuckled darkly and pressed her lips together in a hum. “Amenadiel is a firm believer of might makes right. More specifically, he is a believer that his might makes right. Unfortunately, the multiverse is full of entities far more powerful than he.”

Catching herself, she smiled serenely and took both Kaliva’s hands in hers.

“While he punches his way to glory, our sweet little sister, Raziel sits in the center and knows.”

“Knows what?” Kaliva asked, gently pulling her hands away. She dropped them to her sides, balling them into crimson silk of her gown.

“She knows that no one truly powerful declares themselves powerful,” Jophiel began coyly, but there was an undeniable fondness in her tone. “She does little herself. Why would she? She has her Erelim, worshipers from countless eras, and a gaggle of siblings who will all jump at her every whim for fear of seeing her dreaded lip wobble.”

Kaliva bowed her head, her silver hair tumbling down her face to cover her eyes. The Raziel Jophiel described was nothing like the one she remembered. “You do not seem particularly fond of Lady Raziel.”

“You don’t have siblings, do you?”

“Uh, yes, my lady,” Kaliva said softly, warily, and laced her fingers together, her thumbs massaging over each other.

“A brother and a sister, but they are thousands of years older than I, and thus barely considered kin.”

The angel nodded and took a full step back. She unfurled her wings with a quick jerk of her shoulders. 

“Then you understand that just because I love Raziel, it doesn’t mean I don’t want to strangle her half the time,” she tutted and glanced briefly skyward before looking back at Kaliva. “Continue as you have with Lucifer, but report everything he does to me. Do that and the seed is yours.”

Before Kaliva could say a word, the angel disappeared, the breeze from her wings buffeting the room. Strangely, they didn’t scatter her shadows as Lucifer’s always did.

She stepped back until her chair brushed against the back of her legs. The angel’s offer echoed in her mind and with it, its sinister connotation. 

Sucking in a breath, Kaliva steepled her hands in front of her face and bowed her head in prayer.

“Lucifer, bright and glorious morning star, hear my plea…”

********

Lucifer snarled at the sky, the last of Kaliva’s prayer echoing from deep within him. It was not particularly surprising that his sister tried to turn one of his servants against him. His first thought was that Jophiel wanted to make certain that remained in hell. However, that was contrary to everything he remembered about his sister’s rather flippant nature. 

Footsteps rang against the cobblestones him, announcing the arrival of the demon lord Barvis and his retinue.

“Ah, my Lord Lucifer!” Barvis bellowed behind him with true jovial cheer and spread his arms wide. “Good of you to come!”

Lucifer grunted, but managed a grin, when the demon lord pulled him into an embrace and pat him hard on the back.

The demon lord was a huge, burly creature, standing almost a full foot taller than the lord of hell. His limbs were thick and powerful with muscles bulging beneath a thick layer of short, bristly fur. A pair of metal-tipped tusks jutted from his lower jaw, pointing upward towards a pig-like snout.

“Indeed,” Lucifer intoned as he easily pulled himself free of the demon’s grasp. He looked up at smiled at his reflecting shining back at him in the demon’s beady black eyes. “How goes the hunt?”

“Good, good,” Barvis snorted, a sound that was a bit like the snuffling of a pig. “Would’ve been better if you made it.”

Lucifer gave the demon a look of mock sympathy and clasped him on his armored shoulder. “You know what they say, Berry. Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”

Barvis snorted again, snuffling, as he nodded in approval. “That I know, my lord. That I know.”

Lucifer glanced around Barvis retinue. There were six in total, five were battle-scarred and well-armed. If he remembered correctly, they were sons Barvis fathered with a demon of a lesser house. The house was subsumed by a rival lord and now Barvis and his former lover were enemies. At least, officially.

His eyes instantly fell on the sixth and only female attendant. She was an exquisitely beautiful young demon with long violet hair that fell almost to her knees. Her eyes were large and luminous, casting a faint emerald glow to her pale, flawless cheeks. Lucifer recognized her almost instantly.

“As I live and breathe, Lady Giselle,” the devil gasped and dramatically placed a hand over his heart. “Is that truly you?”

The demoness smiled, revealing perfect teeth, and bowed low.

“Greetings, my lord.”

“Ah, so you do remember my beautiful daughter?” Barvis snuffled, obviously pleased. He looked up, dismissing his bodyguard sons with a jerk of his chin. “Good, good.”

He extended his gnarled, black nailed hand to Giselle and drew her forward. “She is my gift to you, my lord. Consider her a welcome home present.”

Lucifer stiffened, his eyes growing cold, but he managed a low, rolling chuckle.

“Ah, you do know the way to my heart,” he purred, giving Gisselle an appreciative once over. “Unfortunately, you’re a bit late. I already have a paramour. One attached to a rather delicious treaty.” 

Barvis’ tusks twitched with his grimace.

“Yes, Vespana beat me to the punch a bit,” he grunted before sending Giselle away with a gesture. “She’s crafty, but not a true demon.”

“Your point?” Lucifer snapped, his patience quickly running to an end. He had a bad feeling as to where this conversation was going. “She’s powerful and loyal. Can the same be said of the rest of the lords?”

The demon lord grinned, his tusks glinting in the murky light of hell.

“If this business with Dromos has taught us anything is that there needs to be a clear line of succession.”

He snorted again, snuffling, and lowered his head to look Lucifer directly in the eye. There was no challenge in his gaze, but respect and a scant amount of kindness.

“With all due respect, my lord. You need an heir,” Barvis stated firmly as is making a proclamation. “And I would greatly prefer it be of my house or that of any true demon than that of some fae upstart.”

“Oh,” Lucifer mouthed, eyes wide and sardonic. Inwardly his mind reeled. He so hated when conversations went exactly as he feared.

“So, it would offend you if my heir were half-fairy? Pity, I’ve grown rather attached to the Lady Kaliva. We’re joined at the hip you might say.”

Barvis snorted, grimacing, and for the first time looked completely uncomfortable. “It’s not just me that has reservations, my lord. Most of the other lords consider the shadow demons interlopers.”

Lucifer chuckled darkly and unfurled his wings with a quick jerk of his shoulders. “I see, well played.”

Barvis tipped his head back to watch Lucifer fly away. After a moment, he heard his daughter’s near-silent footsteps ringing on the stones behind him.

“Forgive me, Father,” Giselle murmured quietly, and bowed low. “I failed you.”

The demon lord snort-snuffled into a chuckle. “No, my girl,” he soothed and cupped her chin with one meaty hand. “That went exactly as I planned.”

Giselle frowned, her brows knitting together. If there was one thing she despised, it was being played for a fool. “You never intended to give me to him.”

“Oh, I did, dear,” he grumbled, snort snickering in amusement. “If he were to put a babe in you, I’d have a half-angel grandchild.”

“She could rule hell,” Giselle murmured, a cruel smile twisting at her lips. “And we wouldn’t need Lucifer.”

“She, huh?” Barvis snickered, his snout flaring as he inhaled. “No, I don’t wish to replace our lord. That would be foolish. No, I simply wish to ensure a proper line of succession.”

Giselle rolled her eyes. Her father had always been something of a soft touch when it came to Lucifer. “But you don’t want that line to go through Lady Vespana’s house.”

“Precisely,” Barvis chuckled and rolled his thick neck in a complete circle, stretching. “I know Lucifer. After I put this baby bug in his ear, he won’t even consider breeding with his little pixie queen.”

Giselle snorted, shaking her head, and looked away as she crossed her arms over her chest. “If you kept your trap shut, I would have been able to seduce him. Now, he won't touch me or likely anyone else. There goes your line of succession.”

“Perhaps,” Barvis grumbled to himself as Giselle spun on her heel and stormed away. “But I doubt all is lost. An heir is an heir, so long as that heir was of Lucifer's bloodline, and I've learned much from Dromos' screams.”

Things had gone well, all things considered. Pleased, the demon lord looked up at the dusty, cloud-filled sky. Lucifer was long gone, likely already back at his palace. Still, it wouldn't hurt to have a little insurance. 


	4. All Limits are Self Imposed

Kaliva leaned forward while lifting the book closer as if distance alone had made the unfamiliar words less difficult to decipher.

“ _I am Icarus now, Simon told the sorceress, who gazed at him as if he were a small, precious child. Who I was before doesn’t matter_.” 

“ _You are you, the sorceress replied, her eyes very black in her moon pale face. She was ancient, and yet, looked years younger than he. Just as you were once Icarus, Icarus, too, was once someone else_ ,” Lucifer recited from memory as he yawned and nuzzled into his pillow.

“ _On and on and on, into the spiral of eternity_.”

His words ended in a yawning sigh and he nuzzled deep into his pillow before the muscles of his face relaxed. Kaliva froze, not daring to move, as she counted the seconds. It had been over a week since he had slept more than a few minutes at a time.

He had promised her that this was not the longest he had ever gone without rest and, so, there was no real need to worry. Still, she could not completely quash her concern. Especially with the rumors of unrest that continued to persist.

Only an angel could rule Hell. At least, in theory, in practice, it was another matter entirely. If the right demon lord gained enough power and influence, he could effectively rule with the angel as little more than a figurehead. That is if the angel survived at all.

More worrying were the loyalists. Those demons, and non-demons such as her clan, who would war against any who dare depose Lucifer.

She chewed on her lip and listened as Lucifer’s breathing evened out. Moving as slow as possible so she wouldn’t jostle the bed, she twisted and set the book behind her on the nightstand.

Kaliva froze when he stirred, her fangs digging into her bottom lip as she watched his face scrunched like that of a small, fussy child. After a moment, he turned his head to grumble something into his pillow and snuffled out a snore. After hours of trying, he was finally asleep. Sadly, if the last few nights had been any indication, it would not be for long. In less than an hour, he would jolt awake and shout something nonsensical. The night before last, it was to declare war on the _god of_ _pudding_.

True to form, he denied the outburst by ignoring it entirely. Although, to his credit, he had been pleased enough to discuss the difference between what she knew as pudding and the sweetened goo favored by what was apparently a branch of the mortal aristocracy.

According to her lord’s recount, these aristocrats called themselves _detectives_ and seemed to fulfill a similar role to Hell’s many viscounts. Curiously, much like the viscounts, detectives earned their positions rather than granted a status given at birth. Through it all, Lucifer had assured her that their pudding was delightful and well worth the effort to procure. Still, she had her doubts. Especially since what he described sounded very much like something Squee could eat. 

At the thought of the lilim, Kaliva glanced toward the bed chamber’s stained-glass window. It was larger than any of the other windows in the palace. Reaching from floor to the vaulted ceiling, its colorful panes depicted a scene of a young girl falling after a rabbit towards a great hall with countless locked doors of all sizes.

“That's Alice,” Lucifer slurred, his voice thick with sleep, and swallowed hard, licking his lips. “How long was I asleep?”

“Just a few minutes,” Kaliva answered, and leaned forward to brush the curls from his eyes. “Why did she come to Hell?”

Lucifer yawned into a frown, but there was a hint of amusement in his tired eyes. “She fell.”

He managed a small laugh as he stifled one final yawn. “She and I have that in common.”

Kaliva nodded and glanced over her shoulder at the window. The hallway Alice plummeted towards was identical to the entrance of Hell.

“What happened to her?”

Lucifer rolled his head on the pillow and stared hard at the window for a long moment. His eyes fell on the spiral gate in the left-hand corner of the window.

“She journeyed through Wonderland where she had many adventures. Eventually, she awoke near a riverbed with her head on her sister’s lap. In her case, the fall had been a dream.”

Kaliva sat up straighter on the bed, her carmine eyes widening with excitement. “I could find her in the dreamscape then.”

“It’s just a story, my dear,” Lucifer chuckled, but his eyes were warm as he pointed with his chin to book on the nightstand.

“Speaking of…” he yawned into the back of his hand, but still managed a watered-down version of his usual purr. “We had just gotten to the part where Icarus, well, Simon met with the sorceress of the moon.”

Kaliva glanced at the book and bit her bottom lip just enough to reveal the delicate tips of her fangs. “Is there any truth to the tale?”

“Which part?” Lucifer asked softly and reached out to stroke her sixth finger. “The tale of Icarus or the story of a mild-mannered accountant named Simon Pospisil who found himself thrust into a world he didn’t know existed?”

Kaliva bowed her head and caught Lucifer’s hand before he could pull away.

“Icarus is known to my people,” she began softly, confused when Lucifer laced his fingers with hers. While he had always been kind to her, he had been especially tender as of late.

“We call him _The Skyseeker_.”

“Oh?” Lucifer hummed, tilting his head to look at her with true interest.

The tale of Icarus was meant to be a cautionary tale on the dangers of excessive hubris. Shame really. Excessive was his favorite kind of hubris.

“Wax is a terrible adhesive.”

“Yes,” Kaliva snorted, hefting her chin up just enough to look down her nose at him. “Even so, he still flew.”

“Most people overlook that bit.”

The fairy softened by inches and gave her lord a sweet smile.

“After _the Skyseeker_ , Icarus, plummeted to his death, his soul was swept up by the Eastern Wind who carried it to the Otherworld, the lands of the Fae.”

“I see,” Lucifer breathed, unsure of the feelings racing through him. It was sadness and loss, aching deep within him, but also the barest glimmer of hope. The feelings were not his own, while simultaneously being an almost intrinsic part of him.

“What happened next?”

Kaliva gave him a sly look and smiled just enough to show the tips of her fangs. She gently pushed him back, guiding him to lay back down. 

“The King of Hell closed his eyes and laid back on his pillow where he slept for the rest of the evening.”

“I can’t,” Lucifer grumbled sulkily, giving Kaliva a pitiful look as she pulled the blankets back up to his chin. “I’ve tried. My thoughts keep racing.”

“I will make you some tea, my lord.”

Lucifer snagged her elbow as she tried to rise from the bed. “I have servants to make me tea.”

“The servants are no longer allowed in my garden,” Kaliva reminded with an amused lilt, but there was a hard glint to her eyes. “Not after my fennel was trampled.”

“I blame Squee,” he quipped and pushed himself up on his elbows. “He got those turnips from somewhere.”

A shiver ran through him at the chilly night air and sent him burrowing back beneath his blankets. 

Hell had been unusually cold as of late. The temperature had dropped every night of the last ten days. Which, oddly enough, was the same length of time he had been unable to sleep. Even more strangely, his subjects informed that this was not the first time temperatures had plummeted.

What this could mean, he was uncertain. Although, Lady Avaresia suggested that Hell was reacting to his will or at least his subconscious. Once he teased the detective that he could arrange for hell to freeze over. If Avaresia was correct, and she always was, he had once done more than simply joked.

“Everyone blames Squee, my lord,” Kaliva tutted as she pulled the blankets up to his chin. “The moonflowers are in bloom. When picked fresh, they can be steeped into a tea that induces sleep. It also cures lycanthropy, which is a bit of an odd overlap.” 

Lucifer eyed her dubiously before sinking deeper into the blankets, shaking his head.

“It’s too cold for you to go outside.”

As if to emphasize his point, the wind howled outside the window, flinging needles of frozen ash crashing against the stained-glass panes.

It reminded him of the thoughts racing in a cacophony of _what-ifs_ and _whys_. Plots and manipulations were commonplace among Hell’s denizens. That was nothing new.

The lords made alliances and plotted among themselves, manipulating and eliminating their enemies in a guise of courtly manners. Beneath them were the assorted noble and mercantile houses whose problems anywhere from painfully mundane to mildly irritating. That wasn’t even considering the countless viscount, viceroys, and random rank and file demons simply liked to stab things, usually each other. It wasn’t that Hell had changed terribly much, but rather he had. Worse, due to his long absence, he constantly felt as though he was at least two steps behind.

“Never mind the tea, have Ari send a message to—”

He grunted in surprise when Kaliva abruptly shoved him down, shoving his head back into his pillow, and caged his face with her hands.

“Master Ari is delivering a missive to the Viscountess Meilara on your behest,” she reminded with good humor as she began to gently massage his temples.

“He seemed optimistic that she would be receptive to your request.”

Lucifer nodded and closed his eyes. Whatever spark of anger he may have felt at being manhandled faded beneath Kaliva’s soothing fingertips.

“Barvis vouched for Viscountess Meilara,” he murmured with a contented sigh. “What do you know of her?”

Kaliva kept two fingers on his temples while splaying the rest of her hand across his cheeks.

“Very little beyond reputation. She was a weaponsmith before she became a viscount and is known for being tough, but fair,” she answered as she stroked the line of his jaw with the pads of her thumbs. “She is also said to have a fondness for candy corn.”

Lucifer cracked open an eye to stare at her in disbelief. “Candy corn?”

“So, I am told,” Kaliva replied wryly and smoothed her hands down his face to rub circles against his cheekbones. “Her mother was a mortal witch that ensorcelled one of the Elder Lords. Assuming the rumors are true, of course.”

“They almost always are, my dear,” Lucifer murmured, his voice thick with sleep. “At least partly.” 

His tongue flicked out over his lips when Kaliva kissed him lightly. She tasted of twilight, of misty forests and things too wild and pure to truly be part of Hell. She was an outsider, an unknown, and that made him wary.

He circled her thin wrist with his fingers and pulled her hand from his face.

“What did your mother tell you about me?”

The question was curiosity rather than an accusation. At least that had been his intent. Even so, it took everything in power to squash the spark of indignation at Kaliva’s wary expression.

“I was born during your absence, so I knew little about you,” the fairy explained softly, bowing her to stare at the blanket. “Just that you were very pretty, even among angels.”

As quickly as it came, his suspicions seeped away. He wanted to think it was because he was giving her the benefit of the doubt. In truth, he was too exhausted to be furious. More importantly, he wasn’t even sure if or why he should be angry at all.

“You’d be in preschool if you were born on earth,” he mused, strangely endeared, his anger quickly vanishing. “Give or take, but definitely still an urchin.”

Unable to meet his gaze, she began to trace the blanket’s embroidery with her index finger. The stitching was a bit sloppy in places. Some of the couching stitches were not as straight as they could be, and a few bullion knots were the tiniest bit frayed.

Although, she supposed some of the frayings could’ve been caused by her lord’s near-constant snuffling. It was adorable even if it was hard on the linens. Still, it was one of the favorite things she had made for him.

“Mother prefers that people form their own conclusions without outside influences, so she told me very little about you.”

Lucifer pressed a kiss to her palm and then folded her against his chest. He had no reason to angry with her. It was his old paranoia exasperated by his current exhaustion.

“So, she threw you to the metaphoric wolves.”

Kaliva cupped his cheek with her free hand and shook her head.

“When you allowed my people to settle within your realm, you saved us from certain genocide. I owe my existence to you.”

Lucifer swallowed hard as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He wanted to tell her she owed him nothing, but the words refused to come. 

“She simply bade me to honor you as I would our clan eldest,” she breathed, as if willing it so, color pooling at her cheeks as she picked at a loose stitch.

She would fix it later, and any others she found. Her lord enjoyed the things she made for him or at least used them often. Which reminded her. She still needed to dye the leather she planned to match his cloak. Hopefully, Squee wasn’t bathing in the barrel again.

“Our sages believe that angels are the Fae’s nearest cousins. Whether it is true or not, we are immortal as you are, so our eldest does not look especially old. Even so, he has lived since the first trees sprouted and sometimes forgets to eat.”

“The fae are the children of Nature,” Lucifer said, yawning into a nod at her pointed tone. Just as her eldest forgot to eat he, especially lately, forgot to sleep.

“Even infernal urchin like pixies.” 

“My lord has obviously never met a pixie,” Kaliva teased with a smile and paused for a moment to finger-comb his hair. “If he had, he’d know that they grow no more than three feet tall and have a tendency to bite.”

Lucifer gasped, his tired eyes widening in mock surprise. “Is this your way of telling me that’s Squee’s a pixie?”

“Uh, no?” Kaliva answered a bit worried at the sudden, almost feverish look in Lucifer’s eyes.

“One that was abnormally tall, of course. It a growth problem. A condition. A medical condition! Did the pixies understand that? No. That lot doesn’t understand anything. They just kicked him out so that he was forced to auction his wings off on eBay to survive!”

She blinked, uncertain which part of that ramble to unpack first. Instead, she decided to go along with whatever tirade his exhausted mind ambled towards.

“I doubt the venture was particularly profitable,” she soothed as she shifted on the bed so that she could stretch out beside him.

“Pixies do not have wings.”

Lucifer made a face, his eyelids drooping, and tugged at the blanket until it was partially covering her. “That’s ’cause Squee sold them. That’s why they hate him.”

“Everyone hates Squee, my lord,” Kaliva chirped and crawled beneath the blankets to cuddle against him. He was so warm, even when it was cold and damp like tonight.

“Do you think it will snow?”

Lucifer swallowed as his eyes drifted to the window. Frost had condensed on Alice’s foot, dripping down the window like a blade.

“I could arrange that,” he hummed sleepily and circled an arm around her when she shivered. “But what about your garden?”

“Well,” Kaliva began coyly and reached behind her for the book on the nightstand. “I find myself wishing I had planted frost berries instead of moon lilies. Otherwise, I believe I can coax into behaving themselves, cold or no.”

“What is Nature, really?” Lucifer mused aloud, the threads of sleep tugging at him. “Was she born with Creation or did she exist before it?”

Kaliva clutched the book to her chest and used it to prop up her chin. “She is someone who would like very much for you to sleep. Preferably before Lady Giselle arrives in the morning.”

Lucifer made a sour expression and grumbled as he rolled onto his side and buried his face into Kaliva’s shoulder. “Don’t remind me.”

“Forgive me, my lord,” she smoothed and ran her hand over his hair before kissing the top of his head. “But worry not, I will protect you from that viper.”

Lucifer chuckled, his chest rumbling against hers.

“Viper,” he repeated with undisguised glee. “She is serpent demon, you know. Well, lust. Sin. All the demons of Berry's house have animal forms associated with one of the various deadly sins.”

He lifted his head just enough so that he could look her in the eye. “Neither she nor Barvis are fond of your people, so be wary.”

Kaliva nodded. Although her people called themselves shadow demons, many of Hell’s natives still considered them interlopers.

“I will be careful, my lord.”

“Lucifer,” he corrected, pulling her with him as he rolled back over onto his back. “That’s my name.”

She smiled briefly in understanding before settling against him with her head on his shoulder. When he looked at her expectantly, she cracked open the book and help it up so that he could read along with her.

_********_

  
High above within _The Silver City_ , the angel Jophiel grumbled out a sigh before plopping down on the ornate throne behind her. 

“Oh, I want to puke.”

“Not near my scrying pool, you don’t,” her sister replied without so much as looking up from her work. “I warned you not to spy on Lucifer.”

“Raziel,” Jophiel groaned and narrowed her eyes in her sister’s direction. She hadn’t come here to simply stare at the top of her sister’s head. 

“We need to do something.”

Raziel said nothing, for a moment, but instead reached for one the countless leather-bound books stacked on her desk.

“Hasdiel said the same thing.”

Jophiel shifted on the throne and pulled a brightly colored pillow out from beneath her. She wadded it between her hands before tossing it to the floor. “And?”

“And what?” Raziel answered with a shrug and rose from her desk. “I’m busy.”

Her silver gown shimmered like sunlight on ocean waves as she wove around the piles of books and scrolls littering the room to an ornate cupboard set against the far wall. The doors opened with a near-silent creak to reveal shelves lined with dozens upon dozens of wax stoppered bottles.

“You’re always busy,” Jophiel groused, sounding far less annoyed than she intended. “But since you’re digging in your cupboard, perhaps—”

Her words ended in a hiss at the sight of a small reptilian creature, roughly the size of a housecat, dozing behind a large jar on the middle shelf.

“That’s a dragon hatchling,” Jophiel stated, trying her best to not sound alarmed. “Does Father know you have that?”

“Father knows what he wants to know,” Raziel hummed in an almost sing-song voice. She gave the creature an affectionate scratch on the head and smiled when it began to purr.

“Hasdiel found him orphaned in The Outlands. Or so he claims.”

Jophiel gripped the arms of the throne, uncertain if she should be angry or pleased. It was a bit annoying that her older brother had beaten her to the punch. Which, knowing Hasdiel as she did wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. That is assuming she could convince Raziel to help.

“You’re working with him?”

Raziel gave her a bemused look over her shoulder and gave the dragon one final pet before reaching down to retrieve a book from the bottom shelf of the cupboard.

“People work for me, not with me,” Raziel reminded as she closed the cupboard’s double doors.

“I needed a dragon for a future project, and he needed information. See how that works?”

Jophiel stared at her sister flatly and crossed her arms over her chest. “You’d charge your own family, your sister, me for help?”

“All three of those are you,” Raziel reminded as she settled back behind her desk. “And no. If you needed my help, you would have it. What you want is information.”

“Obviously, you genius-level idiot,” Jophiel hissed and pushed herself on the throne’s armrests. “You are the Keeper of Secrets!”

She spat a curse and rolled her eyes to the ceiling when Raziel suddenly looked entirely too pleased with herself.

“You gave me that seed knowing Lucifer’s little pixie princess wouldn’t betray him.”

“Kaliva is a Fae Queen,” Raziel corrected and wrote something down on a scrap of paper before folding it neatly in half. “And yes.”

“You know what I hate about you?” Jophiel huffed, slouching heavily on the throne.

“Everything?” Raziel supplied helpfully, looking up to give her sister a brief smile. “Or perhaps you are simply jealous that I can play the oboe whilst standing on my head?”

“Besides that,” she answered flippantly, but then jerked her head up in realization. “You can play the oboe?”

“Whilst standing on my head,” Raziel quipped as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “I’ve also become rather adept at wing buffets.”

“Great,” Jophiel deadpanned, but then pursed her lips with a frown. Raziel’s nonsequiturs were very often answered important, unasked questions. It was merely a matter of navigating the illusion of nonsense.

“On that note. Why are you randomly British?”

“Welsh, my little crab cake,” Raziel purred, deflecting, her black eyes glittering. “I speak with a Welsh accent the same reason you speak with a Sumerian one.”

“Crab cake? Right.” Jophiel shook her head and huffed in sister’s general direction. “I’ll let that go because it’s marginally better than Boo-Kitty—”

“Crab with a K,” Raziel quipped, nodding gravely, “because you’re a poseur.”

“Says the angel pretending to be Welsh,” Jophiel growled while rolling her eyes at Raziel’s smug expression.

She knew Raziel thought she was being snide. In reality, however, it was mostly just adorable. Still, there was something her younger sister’s dark eyes that reminded her too painfully of Lucifer before he fell.

“As you recall, I once lived in an area that would eventually become the Sumerian Empire.”

“Ah, yes.” Raziel nodded before giving her sister a sly, sideways look. “You created a number of artifacts whilst you were there.”

“Father told me too,” Jophiel clucked and flicked a finger toward the window. “A bit of schemer that one. So, when he asked me to create a certain book that would point to the third piece of the Flaming Sword, I decided to have a bit of fun.”

“You implied that the final piece of the sword was held by God’s favorite son.”

“What’s that phrase from that movie Verchiel loves so much? Jophiel pressed her lips together but then brightened with a smile curling at her lips. “Ah, yes. It was the truth from a certain point of view.”

“There is no point of view about it. Amenadiel had the piece, not Lucifer,” Raziel chided and paused for a moment to twirl a pen between her fingers. Now our elder brother is fapping about filled with pride and little substance.”

“So, he’s the same as always,” Jophiel quipped and lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “No harm no foul, but do consider, little sister, just who was watching over Amenadiel during that time.”

For a split second, Raziel looked impressed, but then she narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “You had no idea Amenadiel would lose his powers.”

“No,” Jophiel admitted with a shrug. “But I did just prove I could talk out my ass with the best of them. Such as the time I convinced Cain that jumping into a volcano would kill him.”

Raziel pinched the bridge of her nose as if to ward off a sudden headache. “Joffy…”

“Yes, yes,” Jophiel muttered, waving her hand dismissively. “I know you had hoped he would learn the error of his ways and redeem himself. But it had been four thousand years and he was still the same monster who bashed in his brother’s brains.”

“Their rivalry was mutual—”

Jophiel raised her hand, silencing her sister. “It doesn’t matter.”

She gave her sister a tight smile and paused for a moment to brush imaginary lint from her lacy sleeves.

“Anyway. Our accents. Or rather, my accent. Long before the whole bit with the volcano, but after Lucifer wandered up from Hell to create the Tigris River. Why I don’t know.”

Raziel brightened. “It was because he—”

“Don’t care,” Jophiel grunted and tossed one of the throne’s brightly colored pillows to the floor. 

“What matters is that Amenadiel showed up to take Lucifer back and then Father passed his _Thou shall not shank my creation_ edict. Which effectively ended my time on the mortal plane. Never really lost the accent, though.” 

Raziel’s dark brows knit together as she made an indecisive sound and tried twice to speak before she finally managed.

“You left the mortal realm because you were forbidden to kill humans?”

Jophiel snorted, rolling her eyes, and shaking her head as she raked a hand through her blonde hair. “I’m not Remiel. I don’t want to hunt them for sport.”

She inhaled sharply before exhaling through her nostrils.

“Humanity is a mixed bag. Some are truly exceptional, while most simply do their best to get by, and then there are those, like Cain, who should’ve been smothered in their cribs.”

Raziel brows shot to her hairline, but she was not surprised. Jophiel had always favored preventive measures. She glanced up at the window just in time to see Gabriel flying closer than need be to her tower. He was checking up on her, though he would never admit it. 

Just as Jophiel would never admit that deep down, she had a tender heart.

“One can always choose not to commit evil,” Raziel began, not unkindly. “Death, however, is not so lenient.”

She frowned thoughtfully and quirked her head sideways.

“Although, there was that one-time Rae-Rae accidentally dropped a group of souls bound for The Silver City. Did you know that incident sparked much of humanity’s mythos on the undead? Much of it is utterly incorrect. Vampire aren’t undead and zombies don’t eat brains, but overall, it’s utterly fascinating—” 

Jophiel groaned loudly and slouched low enough on the throne that she could fling one leg over an arm. Her sister was brilliant but tended to babble. At least that was what it seemed. In truth, the Keeper of Secrets was answering questions that hadn’t yet but would eventually need to be asked. 

“—they are the distant descendants of Lilith. So far removed from their demonic heritage that they have regained functioning souls—”

“Thank you, Raziel,” Jophiel began and smiled tightly. “I’ll keep all that in mind if I ever encounter a vampire or find myself enrolled in undead sensitivity training.”

Raziel sighed, shaking her head. She knew, better than even Jophiel, what was about to happen next. “Liar.”

“I am who I am, Zellie,” Jophiel murmured, feeling wistful enough to use Raziel’s childhood nickname. She smiled down at the floor before looking up to meet her sister’s gaze.

“I need information, specifically about Lucifer. And I need it without backtalk. So, tell me what I need to do for you.”


	5. The Maid of Eventide

Chloe met the pitiless gaze of the adversary, the destroyer, the Maid of Eventide and the Herald of Dawn, and set an offering before her. 

“Eat your eggs, Monkey-butt.”

Monkey-butt was, of course, her beautiful, intelligent, and only mildly devilish daughter, Phoebe Lucille Decker Morningstar.

As a matter of minor frustration, no one could decide who exactly she favored the most. Lucifer insisted that their daughter looked the most like her, while all she saw was Lucifer’s blue-eyed, gender-swapped clone. Dan simply shrugged and deemed her cute.

Ella, with a bit of help from Penelope Decker, and Amenadiel of all people, declared their observations to be insufficient. Phoebe’s eyes pointed to her human heritage. That is until Amenadiel noted that the angel Michael had eyes that same shade of blue.

One near brawl later, the matter was laid to rest when Ella proclaimed the child a result of Deckerstar genes combining on a mondo, groovy, spectacularly awesome, and epic level.

Either way, she was cute.

“But, Mommy,” Phoebe whined, her little nose wrinkling in distaste.

“They’re not poached.”

Something twisted in Chloe, but she still managed to smile. Not only did Phoebe look like her father, but she had also mastered his scandalized tone.

He had returned to Hell only recently. This time to set boundaries regarding their daughter with his demons. He was hopeful matters would be settled sooner, rather than later, but there was always a chance for it all to go sideways.

She tried not to think about how much she missed him but instead concentrated on their daughter. Part of which including making sure she ate more than two bites of her breakfast this morning.   
  


“They’re not?” Chloe teased and poured Phoebe a glass of juice before taking a sip of her coffee. “How’d that happen?

With a solemn shake of her head, Phoebe sighed and picked up her fork. She poked at her breakfast, shifting, and overturning fluffy bits of scrambled egg. The secret was whipping the whites before folding in the yolks. Not that that would impress the universe’s most discerning four-year-old.

“There’s no hollandaise sauce.”

“Oh,” Chloe hummed, bobbing her head in a nod before pushing the plate closer to her daughter.

“Sounds serious.”

Phoebe made a grumbly, whiny sound, and frowned down at the eggs. After a moment, when the eggs had made it clear that they would not drench themselves in the yummiest of sauces at her command, she shoved the plate away and unfurled her pristine white wings.

Chloe quickly set her coffee cup aside and jerked forward, snagging the child by the waistband of her pajamas.

“Oh, no, no, no!” she chided, shaking her head as she leaned forward so that the two were nearly nose to nose. “Eat.”

Phoebe gave her mother one last pitiful look but then huffed a sigh before begrudgingly picking up her fork. She took the tiniest bite of egg and chewed thoroughly before swallowing as if it were painful. She gave her mother a pleading look before attempting another bite.

“Mommy…”

Chloe answered with a mock pout but then smiled when Phoebe rolled her eyes. She knew she shouldn’t encourage it but couldn’t help herself. There were times where she was almost convinced that what she had given birth to four years ago wasn’t a child, but rather the universe’s second sassiest celestial.

Pseudo maturity resulting from preternatural intelligence and advance cognitive ability had been Linda’s best guess diagnosis. It was as good of an explanation as any other. With only two known half-angels in existence, they were flying blind. Linda also made it clear that Phoebe only seemed mature. In reality, she was still very much a small child. 

Chloe, however, believed there was a better explanation. One that had nothing to do with hyper-awareness. Phoebe was simply her father’s child.

On that note, she glanced at Phoebe’s thoroughly shifted, but mostly uneaten scrambled eggs. If nothing else, Lucifer was far better at getting Phoebe to clean her plate.

“Finish your breakfast, Monkey-butt,” she coaxed before dropping a quick kiss to the top of her daughter’s head. “Mommy has to get ready for work.”

Begrudgingly, Phoebe took another tiny bite of egg and took a large gulp of juice to wash it down. Her wings twitched at her back. Their longest feathers just skimming the linoleum floor. After one final bite, she shoved the plate away and looked sulkily in the direction her mother had gone.

“You forgot my crunchy bread.”

Chole stopped in mid-step uncertain if she should sigh at the ceiling or the floor. Those were Lucifer’s genes talking, but he inherited them from somewhere—or someone.

“Oh, sorry, your majesty,” Chloe deadpanned, inwardly wincing at her choice of words. Whether any of them liked it or not, the legion of Hell named Phoebe its crown princess. The gifts and attempts to curry favor had already begun to arrive.

Last week it had been a hellhound puppy, and before that, a small razor-sharp dagger and a small carved box filled with jewels. Harmless enough, even if the puppy had devoured the neighbor’s Toyota.

Even so, the acceptance of a gift implied the granting of favor, which meant the arrival of a demon on their doorstep was imminent. Lucifer took the incidents with an alarming amount of stride before declaring that he would once more return to hell.

Only temporarily, he ensured them all. Just long enough to remind the demons that while Phoebe was indeed his heir, he was still very much their king.

That had been over a week ago. There had been no word, nor had she truly expected any. More importantly, while she knew things weren’t necessarily going to plan, she sensed they weren’t going completely wrong either. Still, she missed him.

As she stepped into the living room, she heard a soft, near-silent flap of wings followed by a creak. Breathing a sigh, she narrowed her eyes to a squint and shook her head. She didn’t have to turn around to know that Phoebe had just hidden the last of her eggs behind the ketchup.

“Since when do you like toast?” Chloe called a bit too loudly as she reached under the coffee table for her shoes. She needed to leave the moment Maze arrived. 

“Daddy says toast is a dirty word, Mommy!” Phoebe chided, glancing quickly over her shoulder as she stuffed the eggs that wouldn’t fit behind the ketchup underneath the salt shaker.

It wasn’t Mommy’s fault, not really. She was fully human, so she didn’t know that eggs were only good if they were poached and covered with hollandaise sauce.

“I’m done with my eggs.” 

“Uh-huh,” Chloe murmured and rolled her eyes at the floor.

Done, but eaten or even finished, so that it wasn’t technically a lie. Lucifer had taught their daughter well.

“What else did Daddy tell you?

At the mention of her father, Phoebe beamed a smile and sat up a little straighter.

“No flying in the house, never wear Hugo Boss when you could wear Brioni,” she recited, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she counted off on her slender fingers. “Nobody likes Squee, practice the piano every day, _and_ vending machine sandwiches are the real devil.”

“Right,” Chloe deadpanned, eyes bulging slightly as she shook her head. “Are you going to be good for Maze?”

She knew the answer before she asked. In the four years of Phoebe’s existence, there had been one constant. A singular event that had thus far proved to be utterly immutable.

She was painfully and irrevocably unimpressed with one Mazikeen Smith.

The knife play that so enamored Trixie was utterly lost on Phoebe. As was the notion that beneath the all the bravado, the token kindness, the penchant for betrayal, and bad attitude that Maze was secretly a good person—or at least not an utterly terrible one.

However, as with all things supernatural, new boundaries formed as only the powerful could demand. Which brought them to their current situation.

A few weeks ago, Maze appeared on their doorstep to demand that Phoebe like her. Both she and Lucifer had tried to convince her that was not how things worked. Phoebe wasn’t Trixie, and she should try to get to know her. 

Maze had been unconvinced. It wasn’t before long she was ranting and raving, twirling her knives as the little half-angel looked on in utter bemusement.

Finally, when it looked as though Maze was at last spent, Phoebe stood up and took the demon’s hand in hers. Smiling slightly, she locked eyes with the demon, and then without warning, bit her hard enough to draw blood.

They had a long talk afterward about boundaries and biting. None of it, however, did anything to snuff the newfound fire of devotion in Maze’s eyes.

“I guess,” Phoebe grumbled, sighing dramatically as she slumped forward until she was half laying on the counter. “She’s so boring.”

Chloe bit her lip to keep from smiling. She could just picture Maze’s reaction at being called boring.

“Sorry, monkey-butt, but Uncle Amenadiel—”

There was a knock at the door, no more than two quick wraps, and the muffled sound of a yawn.

“Who?” Chloe questioned with a frown. Maze wouldn’t have knocked. Not when she could’ve kicked in the door or scaled the terrace or done anything other than knock like a normal person.

Their visitor knocked again, this time more insistent, and strangely followed by a contented sigh.

“This way, my lady,” a melodic voice called from the other side of the door. “One of the dreamlings has her trapped.”

A strange feeling raced through Chloe as she turned from the door. She felt as though she were being watched, and yet somehow watching.

“Phoebe,” she hissed as her daughter appeared beside her. “Go upstairs.”

The little girl simply smiled and tugged lightly at her mother’s sleeve.

“Don’t worry, Mommy,” she assured, her voice strangely melodic. “Lady Kaliva is nice.”

“Lady…Kaliva? Who?” Chloe stammered, and then sucked in a breath. A sudden, but inexplicable realization washed over her. None of this was real.

 _Kaliva?_ echoed a voice thick with sleep. _Tell Ari…”_

“Lucifer!” Chloe gasped, instantly recognizing the voice, glanced frantically around the room. Shadows leapt around her, swirling along the floor until they coalesced into a beautiful young woman with silver hair and glossy black wings.

Phoebe tugged gently at her hand. No, not Phoebe. This couldn’t be her daughter.

“Try to be quiet, Mommy,” not-Phoebe whispered as she peered up at Chloe. Her tone was serious and her expression grave. “You’ll wake The Lightbringer.”

“What—?”

A calm sort of malaise settled over the room as the young woman stepped forward. She curtseyed low, her long hair sweeping forward until it nearly brushed the floor.

“Greetings, my Lady Chloe,” she greeted warmly. Her tone was reverent but colored with fondness. “I am Kaliva.”

Chloe tried twice to speak, but only managed a weak gurgle as she was struck with renewed awareness. As she first thought, none of this was real. It was a trick. A cruel lie. Lucifer hadn’t returned to Hell for a brief stay, but forever.

“What… where,” she swallowed hard, the moment of him leaving replaying in her mind. She realized she loved him in time to lose him. Her eyes stung as she stared down at the child who she now knew could not be her daughter.

“Why?”

She hated how broken her voice sounded. It was like losing him again.

“She is a dreamling,” Kaliva explained as she stepped around to lightly lay her six-fingered hand on Phoebe’s shoulder. “A figment created by your dreaming mind.”

“I’m…dreaming?” Chloe gasped, her eyes rolling around as they glanced frantically around the room. It made sense, as much as anything could lately. Soon she’d wake up and everything would be back to its relative normal.

“I…okay.”

Kaliva chuckled softly, but her carmine eyes were kind. She turned to Phoebe and leaned forward to look her in the eyes.

“You did very well,” she praised and smiled when the little girl beamed. “The others are waiting outside.”

With that, Phoebe gave Chloe a shy, almost apologetic smile, and vanished.

“You were dreaming,” Kaliva stated firmly, her tone regal and commanding. “Now you are not.”

“Okay,” Chloe breathed and uttered a shaky laugh. “What does that mean? And why are doing this? Are you an angel? Where is my—"

Kaliva cocked her head sideways to reveal the shell of a pointed ear. “Which of those questions do you wish me to answer first, my lady?”

“I…” Chloe drew out, giving the word several more syllables than needed. In truth, she wasn’t sure which question was the most important. So, instead, she decided on the one she needed the most.

“Is Lucifer okay? I heard them talking about him and Phoebe, the dreamling, she…”

Suddenly, a bolt of indignation shot through her and she made an all-encompassing gesture with her hand.

“Why do I feel as all this is perfectly normal?”

Kaliva looked thoughtful for a moment and gently inclined her head.

“It is because your mind believes it is still dreaming, so it is content to allow events to play out as they would.”

“Just enjoying the ride,” Chloe grumbled wryly, and then sucked in a breath, stealing herself. “You didn’t answer me. Is Lucifer okay? Did he send you?”

“He has had some difficulties sleeping as of late, but is otherwise well,” Kaliva answer carefully and flicked the tip over her tongue across bottom lip before continuing. “He does not know I am here.”

“Right.” At a loss, Chloe sat down on the edge of the sofa and clutched one of the throw pillows to her chest. She missed him.

“He doesn’t sleep when he’s upset or worried.”

Kaliva nodded, but there was an oddly knowing look in her eyes.

“Or when someone is traipsing around his dreamscape.”

Chloe shook her head, not understanding, and then breathed a frustrated sigh. “You think I’m in his dreamscape.”

“I know you are in his dreamscape,” Kaliva countered, eyeing Chloe up and down. “The outskirts at least. It happens sometimes when two beings share a connection that goes beyond the physical.”

“Lucifer and I have never had sex,” Chloe blurted, her eyes bulging in disbelief. One of these days she’d quit admitting that out loud. Either way, it was true. 

“Your dream-selves have,” Kaliva replied with a hint of amusement in her measured tone. “Regardless, it pleases me to know that our lord is so dearly loved.”

“Lord?” Chloe repeated, eyes narrowing to a squint.

She wanted to correct Kaliva but didn’t quite dare. Lucifer wasn’t her lord. In fact, she knew him well enough to know that the very notion would offend him. Instead, she noted the information and slipped ever so slightly into Detective Decker.

“So, you’re a demon?”

Kaliva tilted her head sideways and smile. “No.”

Chloe waited for Kaliva to elaborate. When she didn’t, she sighed and rolled her eyes. So much for that.

“This is crazy… How can I be in Lucifer’s dreamscape? I’m human.”

“As I said, it happens sometimes,” Kaliva began thoughtfully, but then paused to smile at a shadow curling around her shoulder. It climbed up her throat until it disappeared into the dark feathers of her wings.

She smiled, warm and apologetic, and took a small step forward.

“I wish I could give you an answer. Sadly, I know little of humanity outside the dreamscape.”

Nodding softly, Chloe lolled her head back and breathed a deep sigh. For whatever reason, she believed Kaliva or at least felt she had no true reason to lie.

“I remember…” she began, eyes narrowing as strained to remember distant flashes of a recent dream. “Trixie wanted to make Lucifer pancakes, but Phoebe got her wings tangled in the neighbor’s volleyball net and then…”

“…then you stripped naked and bungee jumped off the roof of your place of employment.”

Chloe opened her mouth to protest, but with the dream now fresh in her mind, she decided otherwise.

“I was avoiding Ella,” she admitted, biting her bottom lip, and sighed in frustration. “I don’t mean to, but ever since Lucifer went back I…”

Suddenly, it felt as though the bottom dropped out of her stomach.

“None of it was real. Me and Lucifer. Our life together, our vacations in Argentina, him teaching Trixie to drive, our…daughter. Was it?”

Kaliva’s eyes soften and smiled kindly. “Not as you would define real, no.”

She glanced over Chloe’s shoulder out a window that hadn’t been there a moment before.

“But to beings such as myself, the dreamscape is just another world. Sometimes kinder, often not.”

Wary, but curious, Chloe followed Kaliva’s gaze out the window and gasped at what she saw. Tall silver spires stretched upward into a beautiful sunset sky. In the distance, there was something that sounded like laughter but could just as easily been a sob.

“Where are we?” 

Kaliva tilted her head sideways so that her long, silver slid back to reveal a delicately pointed ear.

“In the dreamscape, as I said. You mentally and myself physically.”

She smiled slightly at Chloe’s annoyed expression, but then sobered and pointed with her chin at the window.

“That is Lucifer’s dreaming. He will awaken soon.”

Eyes widening, Chloe sucked in a shaky breath and spun back towards the window. “So, that’s hell?”

“No, my lady,” Kaliva carefully, everything about her tone utterly measured. “That is The Silver City or what you humans more commonly refer to as—”

“Heaven,” Chloe breathed, unblinking as she shook her head. Without moving, she suddenly found herself directly in front of the window.

She reached out and touched one of the panes. The beveled glass was icy cold beneath her fingertips. Tears blurred her vision and she sniffed loudly, unable to hide them.

“He’s an angel,” Chloe whispered to herself and watched the skyscape of heaven fall into a starless dark. The sob grew louder, more distinct until she could just make out not words, but a prayer.

_Lucifer, bright and glorious morning star, hear my plea!_

“Our lord disapproves of such devotions,” Kaliva murmured softly as she moved to stand beside Chloe at the window. “But it is a way to contact him should the need arise.”

Chloe tried not to react, but instead simply stared out the window. She sensed that Kaliva was trying to tell her something. But what? Phoebe or whoever she truly was claimed Kaliva was nice, but could she really trust her? Not that it mattered. This was a dream, a weird, insane dream fueled by her recent, stress-induced insomnia.

“Okay.”

Kaliva gave her a knowing look and tucked her hands into her billowing sleeves.

“Our lord is waking and so now must you.”

Before Chloe could protest, shadows slipped from Kaliva’s wings, flowing down her spine to spread in a shadowy mist along the floor. They leapt and writhed, stretching over the walls and furniture as she watched in numb fascination. Within moments, she found herself alone in a room of shadow.

Her mind reeled and she bolted, rushing without thinking to the vanishing window. She only managed to make it halfway before she tripped on something unseen and fell onto the floor. Shadows slipped through her fingers as she pawed at the ground, searching for something with a desperation not entirely her own.

Her heart sank when the last corner vanished, sealed away behind a wall of writhing shadow. “No.”

Cloaked within the dreamscape, Kaliva sighed and slipped her hands into her billowing sleeves. While matters had not played out as well as she would have liked, it had not been a total loss. Once she had managed to isolate Chloe from Lucifer’s dreamscape, he had been able to sleep for several hours. At least, as far as she could tell.

All that was needed now was a more permanent solution. Beside her, the dreamscape quivered and the young dreamling known as Phoebe materialized into view. 

“Told you,” the dreamling huffed, her pure white wings twitching in agitation.

Her frown deepened as Chloe settled back on the sofa and covered her face with her hands. Mortals tended to wake when they felt trapped. Unfortunately, Chloe Decker proved to be an exception, which meant extreme measures may be required.

“You will have to seal this place to keep her away.”

Kaliva gave the dreamling a disapproving frown and shook her head. “That would destroy entire layers of the dreamscape. It would destroy you.”

The dreamling stood on tiptoe, her wings rising with her. “The Lightbringer is more important.”

With another word, the dreamling disappeared leaving Kaliva alone once more with Chloe.

“Not to him,” she murmured, smiling slightly as Chloe lifted her head. The mortal was close to waking. All she needed was a slight push. “Regardless, I will not risk harming either of them.”

Kaliva pursued her lips and tugged gently at the dreamscape. It rippled as the lines between and the dreamscape blurred. She smiled softly when Chloe yawned and began to disappear.

Kaliva bowed her head and closed her eyes as she fought back an unexpected pang of sadness. The mortal would remember little of their encounter. It was simply the way of things. Not even the Lightbringer could recall his dreams in their entirety.

She stood up on tiptoe and rolled her shoulders to extend her wings. Within moments, she breached the barrier of the dreamscape and returned to Hell.

Pausing for a moment to smooth down her bodice, she folded her wings with a jerk of her shoulders and entered Lucifer’s chambers without knocking.

She pulled the heavy door closed behind her before removing her cloak and gloves. The temperature had risen substantially in her absence but was still well below the norms of Hell. It was what she thought and feared in equal measure. The disruptions in Lucifer’s sleep, specifically his dreams, had caused Hell’s recent chill.

“Lucifer?” she called out after depositing her garments in a nearby chair.

Lady Giselle would arrive with the hour. Lucifer needed to be dressed, briefed, and most importantly sitting upon his throne within that time.

A muffled came from the adjacent dressing room, but before she could take a step forward, the door swung open. Lucifer gave the room a sour look, but then brightened when he saw her.

“Ah! Kaliva,” he chirped as he wandered from the dressing room wearing a robe of emerald silk. “Let me guess. Lady Giselle sends her regrets, yada, yada, that she will be unable to make her visit.”

“Not to my knowledge,” Kaliva hummed, her nose wrinkling slightly with her smile. He was wearing one of the robes she made him, as well as the slippers. “Do you know what you want to wear?”

“A G-string and rollerblades,” he grumbled, and then looked Kaliva directly in the eye. “What did you find?”

“Evidence to support a theory mostly,” she began carefully and reached out to take both his hands in hers. “You know that I am mostly self-taught.”

“I am,” he snapped and jerked his hands away. “What did you find?”

Kaliva licked her lips, confused as to why she was suddenly so uncertain. “I found a place where your dreamscape has overlapped with that of Lady Chloe.”

“The detective? How?”

She paused thoughtfully, mulling over her words before speaking. “I do not know exactly, but your dreamscapes have fused in places, perhaps forever.”


End file.
